I have a terrible memory, so if I've forgotten something wild and exciting, please forgive me.
2013 was quite a remarkable and significant year in the Boyer household ~ most notably for the teenager. Our oldest son turned 16 and got his driver's license this year, both rites of passage. He entered his Junior year of high school - officially an upper class-man - and into his first serious relationship with a lovely young lady. It seems he was approaching, hitting, and surpassing milestones all year long.
2013 had some cool things in store for your youngest son as well. For starters, he turned 10 ~ officially out of single-digits and considered a "tweenager" by some. He also started playing the violin and joined the school choir, even has a solo part in the upcoming spring 5th & 6th grade musical. His energy and creativity continue to amaze and surprise me. Getting a new bike for his birthday he wanted to join Daddy on long bike rides, and insisted that they become "family rides" dragging the teenager kicking and screaming, and reminding me how much fun cycling can be. He also completed his first Indian Mud Run (the 1-mile kids course, but still a wonderful accomplishment!) and is very much looking forward to this year's event.
My handsome hunny had a rocky 2013 after taking a dive off of his bicycle, leaving him with significant road-rash and a minor sprain of one knee, and 2 labral tears in his rotator cuff. In spite of these minor details, he still managed to complete the 3.5-mile Indian Mud Run, and a 10-mile run later in the year. He has since recovered from the knee injuries, but continues to rehab the shoulder. We'll see if 2014 brings cortizone shots or surgery.
As for me, 2013 has been a wild ride. It started off with the most God-aweful semester of school thus far, leaving me to question what in the world I was doing to myself. Then, my sanity took a leave of absence, causing me to register for not only a 10-mile run, but then a half-marathon. I have never run so much in my life! But if you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you already know why I do it. After completing the training and then the events, I have never felt more accomplished. Knowing that God has given me a body capable of this kind of work is at the same time wondrous and frightening. God has shown me that I am indeed capable of things I never thought possible, but that usually means He is prepping me to use this new found knowledge and skill. Makes me wonder what He has waiting for me up His sleeve. In the spring I was blessed to serve on a Koinonia team, and in the fall blessed again to serve on a Kairos team. This year I have been able to reconnect with childhood friends and very much look forward to rebuilding those relationships ~ was even honored to attend the wedding of one of these long-lost-buddies.
I am not one to make resolutions - more likely to set goals - for the coming year, but I am interested to see what 2014 holds for the Boyer family. The teenager has all kinds of plans for the rest of his Junior year, the tweenager is so happy-go-lucky he can make the best of just about anything that rolls his direction, and my hunny is hoping for improvement on many fronts. As for me, since my sweet 10-yr-old reintroduced me to the joy of cycling, I have set my sights on a duathlon in the coming year. With my oldest on the cusp of entering his Senior year, I am considering taking a break from my own schooling to enjoy every minute I still have with him. But most of all, my goal is to roll with the punches that inevitably come my way, and try to keep a watchful eye and listening ear to all the God might have for me up His sleeve.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Questioning
God and I do not exactly have a history of seeing eye to eye. I have spent years questioning God's plan for my life. Yet, I have finally come to a place where I may question in the moment of frustration and then, when the moment settles, I trust that He knows what He's doing and let Him lead the way.
Through my involvement with Kairos Prison Ministry I have come to know a resident who has been locked up for 28 years. Though I have no idea of the person she was when she arrived in the correctional system, I do know the strong Christian woman that she had become. She served the Lord and Kairos wholeheartedly and was a mentor to many.
When she served the most recent Kairos team as a Resident Angel, she mentioned that she would be going before the powers that be about her release, and that she would appreciate our prayers in this regard. Of course, we were all willing to pray on her behalf. Four weeks later, at a Kairos monthly reunion, we learned that this resident had indeed been granted her release!! I can't vouch for anyone else, but I was elated! However, this resident had also been in the hospital for serious health concerns, and additional prayer was sought. This week, we learned that this resident has indeed gone home ~ to be with the Lord.
Reading that email, my heart broke. She was 3 weeks away from being released from prison after 28 years inside, she rejoiced in the knowledge that such freedom had been granted, and the delight of seeing the other side of those walls was taken from her. How unfair! Why would God answer her prayers for freedom, and then never let her taste that freedom? Why would He dangle that carrot only to steal it away in the 11th hour? I thought God was supposed to be just! I thought He was supposed to work for the good of those who believe in Him! How could He do this?!
I had quite the little tissy-fit on my soap-box that morning. And then I stepped off of it, remembering that I will never understand the greatness of God this side of heaven. Clearly, He had a better idea of what this beloved sister needed then I, and He is never unjust, never unfair ~ though our insufficient mortal eyes are not always capable of recognizing this. I do not pretend to know why she was in prison, but I do know that she had long been free in Christ. And I do not pretend to know why God took her when she was so close to going home, but I do know that He took her to His home.
When I was a kid and questioning authority, my dad would tell me, "It's not mine to question why. It's only mine to do or die." Coming from a hard-core Italian, I understood this to mean "just do what you're told." But as a Christian, I understand this more fully to mean that I am not always intended to understand His callings in life ~ I am only meant to listen and obey so that I am able to live in Him and will not parish into a forever death. I am not meant to understand the perceived unfairness of this circumstance, I am only meant to trust that God had something greater in mind.
God bless you, sweet Kairos sister. You will be dearly missed.
Through my involvement with Kairos Prison Ministry I have come to know a resident who has been locked up for 28 years. Though I have no idea of the person she was when she arrived in the correctional system, I do know the strong Christian woman that she had become. She served the Lord and Kairos wholeheartedly and was a mentor to many.
When she served the most recent Kairos team as a Resident Angel, she mentioned that she would be going before the powers that be about her release, and that she would appreciate our prayers in this regard. Of course, we were all willing to pray on her behalf. Four weeks later, at a Kairos monthly reunion, we learned that this resident had indeed been granted her release!! I can't vouch for anyone else, but I was elated! However, this resident had also been in the hospital for serious health concerns, and additional prayer was sought. This week, we learned that this resident has indeed gone home ~ to be with the Lord.
Reading that email, my heart broke. She was 3 weeks away from being released from prison after 28 years inside, she rejoiced in the knowledge that such freedom had been granted, and the delight of seeing the other side of those walls was taken from her. How unfair! Why would God answer her prayers for freedom, and then never let her taste that freedom? Why would He dangle that carrot only to steal it away in the 11th hour? I thought God was supposed to be just! I thought He was supposed to work for the good of those who believe in Him! How could He do this?!
I had quite the little tissy-fit on my soap-box that morning. And then I stepped off of it, remembering that I will never understand the greatness of God this side of heaven. Clearly, He had a better idea of what this beloved sister needed then I, and He is never unjust, never unfair ~ though our insufficient mortal eyes are not always capable of recognizing this. I do not pretend to know why she was in prison, but I do know that she had long been free in Christ. And I do not pretend to know why God took her when she was so close to going home, but I do know that He took her to His home.
When I was a kid and questioning authority, my dad would tell me, "It's not mine to question why. It's only mine to do or die." Coming from a hard-core Italian, I understood this to mean "just do what you're told." But as a Christian, I understand this more fully to mean that I am not always intended to understand His callings in life ~ I am only meant to listen and obey so that I am able to live in Him and will not parish into a forever death. I am not meant to understand the perceived unfairness of this circumstance, I am only meant to trust that God had something greater in mind.
God bless you, sweet Kairos sister. You will be dearly missed.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Asking the Impossible
I always get a giggle when people call faith in Jesus Christ a "crutch". If my faith is a crutch, it's a rickety, dilapidated crutch that keeps slipping out from under me. My life has never been more complicated since recommitting my life to Christ, partly because I will forever fall short of His mark, but more so because He likes to ask things of me that seem impossible.
Now, before you go quoting the second half of Matthew 19:26, try to remember the first ~ "With man this is impossible." (NIV) Even more so with bull-headed, spiteful ME are some of these things impossible. Allow me to give you the latest example of the spiritual 2x4 upside the head that seems to be an impossible request.
Every time I prep for a ministry retreat I receive some new insight, and the current Kairos team formation is no exception. These usually come during a guided meditation, which makes sense when you think about it. Meditations are designed to bring your mind to a place where it can see more clearly. This particular meditation asked us to picture ourselves sitting in the shade of a palm tree on a peaceful beach. As we look out over the water, we hear someone walk up and sit beside us. We look over to see Jesus, sitting with us, enjoying sights and sounds of the surf. After a time, Jesus looks at us and asks, "My child, what can I do for you?"
We are actually expected to answer this question?! The savior of the world, the man who died for me, is asking what more He can do for me? Because being scourged and crucified wasn't enough? How do I answer this? But in a moment, the answer came. I told Him I needed Him to love me the way my family doesn't.
Anyone who knows me well knows that my relationship with my family (husband and sons excluded) is strained at best. It would be safe to say that at this point it is pretty much non-existent. I haven't spoken to my dad in over 3 years, I haven't been able to get my mother to return a phone call in almost 2 months, my brother and I merely tolerate each other for the family's sake, and my sister is giving me the silent treatment because I decided to attend my friend's wedding instead of the family holiday shindig (long story there.) Not exactly feeling the love here. But even the red-headed step-child deserves to be loved, and this red-headed step-child knows that the unconditional love of which my earthly family seems to be incapable will forever flow from the Ultimate Big Brother and my family in His spirit.
The meditation continues by asking us to picture ourselves still sitting with Jesus under the palm. After a time, we look to Him and ask, "Lord, what can I do for you?"
Confession time ~ I never want to ask this question, because I know He will answer it every time. And more often than not, I'm less that thrilled with the response. This was no exception. There was absolutely no hesitation in His reply ~ "Love your family the way I do."
SLAP!!
Ever try to argue with God? It's pointless, I know, but sometimes I give it a whirl. Never once can I remember being successful. The trend holds here. He has just commanded me to love my family in a way that they cannot love me. How unfair is this?! Why should I have to love folks who clearly have no interest in returning the courtesy, or even seem to care whether I love them or not? Do I really have to love them as much as He does? Don't you think that's asking a bit much? Then it dawned on me that I am asking this of a man who died for people who hated Him. Asking me to love people that simply don't care seems like a petty request in comparison.
Yet, for me, this is a huge burden to carry. My spirit is at constant war with the flesh in which it is trapped, and though my spirit knows this must be done, my flesh resists with all the hurtful spite it can muster. My spirit wants to obey, but my flesh is still healing hurts and wounds. My spirit tries to love, but my flesh succumbs to the cold-heartedness it perceives. When it comes right down to it, I'm not ready to love them like He does. I'm having a hard time loving them because I have to as the family given me, let alone with the unconditional and boundless love of Christ.
I am so grateful that Jesus knows that this side of heaven we are all works in progress. He also knows that in the end, He always wins and I eventually follow where He leads ~ oftentimes kicking and screaming all along the way. In my heart of hearts, I believe that I will someday reach a place where I can love my family like He does. Unfortunately, it isn't here under this palm.
Now, before you go quoting the second half of Matthew 19:26, try to remember the first ~ "With man this is impossible." (NIV) Even more so with bull-headed, spiteful ME are some of these things impossible. Allow me to give you the latest example of the spiritual 2x4 upside the head that seems to be an impossible request.
Every time I prep for a ministry retreat I receive some new insight, and the current Kairos team formation is no exception. These usually come during a guided meditation, which makes sense when you think about it. Meditations are designed to bring your mind to a place where it can see more clearly. This particular meditation asked us to picture ourselves sitting in the shade of a palm tree on a peaceful beach. As we look out over the water, we hear someone walk up and sit beside us. We look over to see Jesus, sitting with us, enjoying sights and sounds of the surf. After a time, Jesus looks at us and asks, "My child, what can I do for you?"
We are actually expected to answer this question?! The savior of the world, the man who died for me, is asking what more He can do for me? Because being scourged and crucified wasn't enough? How do I answer this? But in a moment, the answer came. I told Him I needed Him to love me the way my family doesn't.
Anyone who knows me well knows that my relationship with my family (husband and sons excluded) is strained at best. It would be safe to say that at this point it is pretty much non-existent. I haven't spoken to my dad in over 3 years, I haven't been able to get my mother to return a phone call in almost 2 months, my brother and I merely tolerate each other for the family's sake, and my sister is giving me the silent treatment because I decided to attend my friend's wedding instead of the family holiday shindig (long story there.) Not exactly feeling the love here. But even the red-headed step-child deserves to be loved, and this red-headed step-child knows that the unconditional love of which my earthly family seems to be incapable will forever flow from the Ultimate Big Brother and my family in His spirit.
The meditation continues by asking us to picture ourselves still sitting with Jesus under the palm. After a time, we look to Him and ask, "Lord, what can I do for you?"
Confession time ~ I never want to ask this question, because I know He will answer it every time. And more often than not, I'm less that thrilled with the response. This was no exception. There was absolutely no hesitation in His reply ~ "Love your family the way I do."
SLAP!!
Ever try to argue with God? It's pointless, I know, but sometimes I give it a whirl. Never once can I remember being successful. The trend holds here. He has just commanded me to love my family in a way that they cannot love me. How unfair is this?! Why should I have to love folks who clearly have no interest in returning the courtesy, or even seem to care whether I love them or not? Do I really have to love them as much as He does? Don't you think that's asking a bit much? Then it dawned on me that I am asking this of a man who died for people who hated Him. Asking me to love people that simply don't care seems like a petty request in comparison.
Yet, for me, this is a huge burden to carry. My spirit is at constant war with the flesh in which it is trapped, and though my spirit knows this must be done, my flesh resists with all the hurtful spite it can muster. My spirit wants to obey, but my flesh is still healing hurts and wounds. My spirit tries to love, but my flesh succumbs to the cold-heartedness it perceives. When it comes right down to it, I'm not ready to love them like He does. I'm having a hard time loving them because I have to as the family given me, let alone with the unconditional and boundless love of Christ.
I am so grateful that Jesus knows that this side of heaven we are all works in progress. He also knows that in the end, He always wins and I eventually follow where He leads ~ oftentimes kicking and screaming all along the way. In my heart of hearts, I believe that I will someday reach a place where I can love my family like He does. Unfortunately, it isn't here under this palm.
Friday, July 12, 2013
"I Hear the Secrets That You Keep...
...when you're talkin' in your sleep." ~ Talking in Your Sleep, The Romantics
Recently, y'all would have heard me secretly battling my demon-possessed 9-year-old son or my long-deceased grandmother.
It's no secret that I am a life-long insomniac who is cruelly plagued by nightmares when I DO sleep. Over the years, I have learned to determine the difference between PTS induced nightmares, stress of life induced nightmares, and spiritual attack nightmares. Lately, there seems to be more of the latter.
Twice in a short period of time, I have woken from horrifying nightmares involving my youngest son ~ as the source of the evil that is tormenting me. This is not the first time the evil in my nightmares has been a child, by for it to be my own child is a new twist. My somewhat strained relationship with my youngest son makes this scenario quite ironic. Much as I love my sweet-hearted, happy-go-lucky, good-natured boy, he is not always the kindest to me. Though I am sure he doesn't intend to be hurtful, he seems to intuitively know just what will cut me to the quick. He's almost bipolar in that in one instant he's following me around with his arms wide open asking if I need a hug and then shunning my existence in the next. So to dream that he is Satan-spawn is not so much of a stretch. But to come to the realization that the image of my own child is being exploited in spiritual warfare against me is not only disconcerting, it is infuriating.
I have been blessed to encounter several spirit-filled, faithful people on my path who have helped me find the power of Christ within myself. There was a time when I doubted that I was worthy of such an endowment, but walking along side me, these folks continually and patiently reminded me that the power of Christ is mine simply because I am His follower. Now that I have accepted that power, I am learning how to wield it.
Mercifully, enough time has now passed that I cannot recall details of these nightmares, but I do recall the moment I recognized the spiritual elements within them. At that moment, I began an attempt at rebuking the demon embodied as my son. I was so passionate, so adamant about this in my subconscious, that I woke myself up by screaming this rebuke in my reality. Totally freaked by the experience, it took a beat to comprehend what has just occurred. Fearing slipping back into the nightmare, I was hesitant to fall back to sleep. Finally, a peace settled over me and rest was welcome in its arrival.
Yet, all has not been well in Dreamland. Once a person catches on to the latest nuances of spiritual attack, the crafty offenders tend to change tactics, or at least faces. Prone to nightmares all of my life, this seems to be a favored means of torture. Instead of changing the battle plan, it appears to be the subject matter that they like to shake up.
My grandmother was my childhood caretaker. Being very much alike in all the wrong ways, we did not always get along. As I became an adult, however, I learned to love and appreciate my grandmother while she still this side of heaven to know it. So why she is the embodiment of an evil presence in my nightmares is a bit of a conundrum.
Unlike the dreams involving my son, who is the main player in intentionally inflicting misery on my subconscious self, the dreams of my grandmother function differently. Though they are no less frightening or demonic, they are fascinating on a psychological level because my grandmother is not actively taunting me. It is her mere presence that evokes a supernatural response in me. She only needs to enter the scene of the nightmare, and I can feel the reaction beginning in my gut and rising through me, as if something has just crawled inside of me and is fighting for control. Grandma is simply standing there, with no malice or evil in her face, watching me loose the battle within until I succumb to the force that has taken hold and unleash a blood curdling, supernatural scream. This is now a predictable scenario if my grandmother enters my dreams, to the point where I have actually had the wherewithal during the rising of one reaction to apologize to her for what was about to occur. And what made that particular incident all the more intriguing was the look of forgiveness on my grandmother's face.
This is a tactic used off-and-on to infect my dreams, but I never had the enlightenment to see it for spiritual attack before now. So when Grandma appeared in a nightmare recently, and I felt the reaction welling within, I began the rebuke, again so passionate and adamant in my subconscious that I woke up yelling in my reality. I wish I could remember the look on her face, if it was still one of gentle forgiveness, or if it was one of horror at having been discovered.
My husband might be able to tell a tale or 2 about idle chit-chat muttered in my sleep. But it seems as if I've got some dark secrets locked away. Are you sure you want to listen?
Recently, y'all would have heard me secretly battling my demon-possessed 9-year-old son or my long-deceased grandmother.
It's no secret that I am a life-long insomniac who is cruelly plagued by nightmares when I DO sleep. Over the years, I have learned to determine the difference between PTS induced nightmares, stress of life induced nightmares, and spiritual attack nightmares. Lately, there seems to be more of the latter.
Twice in a short period of time, I have woken from horrifying nightmares involving my youngest son ~ as the source of the evil that is tormenting me. This is not the first time the evil in my nightmares has been a child, by for it to be my own child is a new twist. My somewhat strained relationship with my youngest son makes this scenario quite ironic. Much as I love my sweet-hearted, happy-go-lucky, good-natured boy, he is not always the kindest to me. Though I am sure he doesn't intend to be hurtful, he seems to intuitively know just what will cut me to the quick. He's almost bipolar in that in one instant he's following me around with his arms wide open asking if I need a hug and then shunning my existence in the next. So to dream that he is Satan-spawn is not so much of a stretch. But to come to the realization that the image of my own child is being exploited in spiritual warfare against me is not only disconcerting, it is infuriating.
I have been blessed to encounter several spirit-filled, faithful people on my path who have helped me find the power of Christ within myself. There was a time when I doubted that I was worthy of such an endowment, but walking along side me, these folks continually and patiently reminded me that the power of Christ is mine simply because I am His follower. Now that I have accepted that power, I am learning how to wield it.
Mercifully, enough time has now passed that I cannot recall details of these nightmares, but I do recall the moment I recognized the spiritual elements within them. At that moment, I began an attempt at rebuking the demon embodied as my son. I was so passionate, so adamant about this in my subconscious, that I woke myself up by screaming this rebuke in my reality. Totally freaked by the experience, it took a beat to comprehend what has just occurred. Fearing slipping back into the nightmare, I was hesitant to fall back to sleep. Finally, a peace settled over me and rest was welcome in its arrival.
Yet, all has not been well in Dreamland. Once a person catches on to the latest nuances of spiritual attack, the crafty offenders tend to change tactics, or at least faces. Prone to nightmares all of my life, this seems to be a favored means of torture. Instead of changing the battle plan, it appears to be the subject matter that they like to shake up.
My grandmother was my childhood caretaker. Being very much alike in all the wrong ways, we did not always get along. As I became an adult, however, I learned to love and appreciate my grandmother while she still this side of heaven to know it. So why she is the embodiment of an evil presence in my nightmares is a bit of a conundrum.
Unlike the dreams involving my son, who is the main player in intentionally inflicting misery on my subconscious self, the dreams of my grandmother function differently. Though they are no less frightening or demonic, they are fascinating on a psychological level because my grandmother is not actively taunting me. It is her mere presence that evokes a supernatural response in me. She only needs to enter the scene of the nightmare, and I can feel the reaction beginning in my gut and rising through me, as if something has just crawled inside of me and is fighting for control. Grandma is simply standing there, with no malice or evil in her face, watching me loose the battle within until I succumb to the force that has taken hold and unleash a blood curdling, supernatural scream. This is now a predictable scenario if my grandmother enters my dreams, to the point where I have actually had the wherewithal during the rising of one reaction to apologize to her for what was about to occur. And what made that particular incident all the more intriguing was the look of forgiveness on my grandmother's face.
This is a tactic used off-and-on to infect my dreams, but I never had the enlightenment to see it for spiritual attack before now. So when Grandma appeared in a nightmare recently, and I felt the reaction welling within, I began the rebuke, again so passionate and adamant in my subconscious that I woke up yelling in my reality. I wish I could remember the look on her face, if it was still one of gentle forgiveness, or if it was one of horror at having been discovered.
My husband might be able to tell a tale or 2 about idle chit-chat muttered in my sleep. But it seems as if I've got some dark secrets locked away. Are you sure you want to listen?
Friday, June 21, 2013
Life on the Trail
The Olentangy Trail has seen quite a bit of Joshua and me of late in this perfect weather. Though, Joshua sees more of the Trail on his bike than I do running on foot.
Running parallel to SR315, the Olentangy Trail is just over 13 miles from its north end just outside the 270 circle in Worthington to its south end just past 670 near the Arena District where it connects to the Scioto Trail. It passes several school buildings in Worthington, Clintonville, and Upper Arlington as well as OSU. There's a path around Antrim Lake and through the Park of Roses. Unfortunately, the Trail will sometimes put you on a sidewalk in a neighborhood or very close to a busy traffic artery, but overall, it is a safe, well maintained, paved path for walkers, runners, and cyclists.
When I have to run after work, I usually keep them short ~ a few miles of hills at a metropark or speed internals on the treadmill. But, the Trail is great for long runs. It is relatively flat with a few inclines here and there, it curves along the Olentangy River so one is not resigned to a straight line, and the recently repainted, highly visible mile markers make it easy to travel just about any distance with certainty. Without a smart phone or an MP3 player, I don't listen to anything when I run, which allows me to take in more of what I see. I have seen herons and cranes in the river, snakes on the path, and deer who seem to want to race. Where the Trail passes the high school, I've seen baseball games on the lower diamond and heard lacrosse announcements from the main field. The Trail passes several smaller neighborhood parks where kids climb on the equipment while teens play frisbee and soccer and the adults chat on park benches.
Yet, a runner needs to be cautious on the Trail. It seems as if, just like on the road, people are not always the most courteous. Couples and small groups think nothing of hogging the entire width of the trail, making it difficult to pass. Dog walkers do not always clean up after their pets. Cyclists like to scare the wits out of you by sneaking up to pass without an audible signal in advance. The rules of the Trail are essentially the same and the rules of the road ~ slower traffic keep to the right, look before passing, and use appropriate signals. Why is this so difficult?
Today's 8 miles was a down-and-back-again between Olentangy Park and Henderson Rd. Pacing slower than I would for a shorter run, I was on the Trail for quite a while ~ and it was fairly uneventful. Unless you consider the narrowly avoided collision as one cyclist passed me while there were 2 others oncoming from the opposite direction. Or the lady getting sick in the tall grass at the edge of one of the clearings off the Trail. Or the cyclist that slowed to match my pitiful-by-comparison 11 minute mile pace to compliment one of the tattoos on my back. Nothing out of the ordinary. Joshua very recently left his mark on the Trail ~ literally, a bloody mark as he went down on his bike 10 miles from the end of his ride. Yes, the Trail sees quite a bit of Joshua and me.
Running parallel to SR315, the Olentangy Trail is just over 13 miles from its north end just outside the 270 circle in Worthington to its south end just past 670 near the Arena District where it connects to the Scioto Trail. It passes several school buildings in Worthington, Clintonville, and Upper Arlington as well as OSU. There's a path around Antrim Lake and through the Park of Roses. Unfortunately, the Trail will sometimes put you on a sidewalk in a neighborhood or very close to a busy traffic artery, but overall, it is a safe, well maintained, paved path for walkers, runners, and cyclists.
When I have to run after work, I usually keep them short ~ a few miles of hills at a metropark or speed internals on the treadmill. But, the Trail is great for long runs. It is relatively flat with a few inclines here and there, it curves along the Olentangy River so one is not resigned to a straight line, and the recently repainted, highly visible mile markers make it easy to travel just about any distance with certainty. Without a smart phone or an MP3 player, I don't listen to anything when I run, which allows me to take in more of what I see. I have seen herons and cranes in the river, snakes on the path, and deer who seem to want to race. Where the Trail passes the high school, I've seen baseball games on the lower diamond and heard lacrosse announcements from the main field. The Trail passes several smaller neighborhood parks where kids climb on the equipment while teens play frisbee and soccer and the adults chat on park benches.
Yet, a runner needs to be cautious on the Trail. It seems as if, just like on the road, people are not always the most courteous. Couples and small groups think nothing of hogging the entire width of the trail, making it difficult to pass. Dog walkers do not always clean up after their pets. Cyclists like to scare the wits out of you by sneaking up to pass without an audible signal in advance. The rules of the Trail are essentially the same and the rules of the road ~ slower traffic keep to the right, look before passing, and use appropriate signals. Why is this so difficult?
Today's 8 miles was a down-and-back-again between Olentangy Park and Henderson Rd. Pacing slower than I would for a shorter run, I was on the Trail for quite a while ~ and it was fairly uneventful. Unless you consider the narrowly avoided collision as one cyclist passed me while there were 2 others oncoming from the opposite direction. Or the lady getting sick in the tall grass at the edge of one of the clearings off the Trail. Or the cyclist that slowed to match my pitiful-by-comparison 11 minute mile pace to compliment one of the tattoos on my back. Nothing out of the ordinary. Joshua very recently left his mark on the Trail ~ literally, a bloody mark as he went down on his bike 10 miles from the end of his ride. Yes, the Trail sees quite a bit of Joshua and me.
Friday, March 15, 2013
"Have You Ever Danced with the Devil in the Pale Moonlight?"
(Quoted from the movie Batman ~ 1989)
No, but I've seen him laughing at me.
Almost 2 years ago, I quit my antidepressant cold turkey and suffered some intense withdrawal. With my mind and body weakened by a very stupid decision, the devil took the opportunity to attack my soul. During that time, in my mind's eye, I could literally see him laughing at me. Since then, I have seen his minion as well ~ usually in my nightmares.
Two nocturnal plagues have afflicted me my entire life ~ insomnia and nightmares. There's some irony in fighting to sleep only to be haunted by horrifying images when you finally do. I can vividly remember as an adult nightmares I had as a child. Like the one where a monstrous arm erupted out of a snow bank and ripped the head off of a girl playing nearby. Or the one where tall, slender apparitions, looking very much like they could have been Muppets, floated through my bedroom window, down the hall, and into my parents' room, completely freaking me out. I was maybe 6 or 7 at the time.
My nightmares can be classified into 3 categories: stress induces, PTS related, and spiritual attack. Each has a very distinct flavor. Generally, stress induced nightmares keep to a theme of natural disasters - most often tornadoes. PTS related nightmares usually involve very bloody, violent death. Spiritual nightmares are apparently sport for the afflicting forces, because the images take on a life of their own and freak me to the nth degree.
Since the initial visual introduction, my senses seem to have been heightened and honed, at least when it comes to my own spiritual battles, and I have had the clarity of vision to see the tormentor behind the facade. I am only capable of seeing demons on my own battlefield, but I am recognizing them nonetheless.
Earlier this week, I went a solid 40 hours without sleep. Ten years ago, this would have been a minor bump on the road 'round my world. Being a little older now, this all but completely incapacitated me. Mercifully, I was off that day, though my schedule didn't have much wiggle room for a nap. Somehow, I managed to find an hour to lie down and present my plea to God to allow me to rest. I can't say for sure whether or not I slept. Nor whether or not I dreamed. But I did do something.
Ever been in a state where you seem to be drifting off, yet you are still fully aware of what is going on around you, and you are completely unable to respond? Had my house been on fire, I would have recognized it, but I would have been unable to escape ~ such was my state of being at the time. It was what I imagine an out of body experience must be like. I knew the cat was lying beside me and I could hear vehicles traveling up and down the road as the images started forming in my mind. I knew I was no longer actively praying, but I also knew that I had been trying to renounce this demon since my head hit the pillow. Then, slowly, out of the fog in my mind, came the face of the day's evil. Acknowledging that I was dealing with, I attempted to renounce this evil, relying on a script I have tried before without success, when suddenly everything about me changed. From out of nowhere, it seemed, I had been doused with a confidence of which I had no idea I was capable combined with the stereotyped attitude of a righteous black women who had just proven you wrong. Though I couldn't see the look on my face, I could certainly see the look of surprise on the demon's face and the tuck of his tail as he slinked away by the command of a woman empowered by Christ. It was as if something crawled inside of me and took over, tapping into a power source I never know was available.
It was unsettling. And it concerns me. Because how is God power going to use this now that I know I have it?
What a bazaar experience. Not only am I not sure if I slept, but I'm not 100% certain whether or not I really did battle that day. What I do know is that I have enjoyed relatively pleasant sleep for the past few nights.
No, but I've seen him laughing at me.
Almost 2 years ago, I quit my antidepressant cold turkey and suffered some intense withdrawal. With my mind and body weakened by a very stupid decision, the devil took the opportunity to attack my soul. During that time, in my mind's eye, I could literally see him laughing at me. Since then, I have seen his minion as well ~ usually in my nightmares.
Two nocturnal plagues have afflicted me my entire life ~ insomnia and nightmares. There's some irony in fighting to sleep only to be haunted by horrifying images when you finally do. I can vividly remember as an adult nightmares I had as a child. Like the one where a monstrous arm erupted out of a snow bank and ripped the head off of a girl playing nearby. Or the one where tall, slender apparitions, looking very much like they could have been Muppets, floated through my bedroom window, down the hall, and into my parents' room, completely freaking me out. I was maybe 6 or 7 at the time.
My nightmares can be classified into 3 categories: stress induces, PTS related, and spiritual attack. Each has a very distinct flavor. Generally, stress induced nightmares keep to a theme of natural disasters - most often tornadoes. PTS related nightmares usually involve very bloody, violent death. Spiritual nightmares are apparently sport for the afflicting forces, because the images take on a life of their own and freak me to the nth degree.
Since the initial visual introduction, my senses seem to have been heightened and honed, at least when it comes to my own spiritual battles, and I have had the clarity of vision to see the tormentor behind the facade. I am only capable of seeing demons on my own battlefield, but I am recognizing them nonetheless.
Earlier this week, I went a solid 40 hours without sleep. Ten years ago, this would have been a minor bump on the road 'round my world. Being a little older now, this all but completely incapacitated me. Mercifully, I was off that day, though my schedule didn't have much wiggle room for a nap. Somehow, I managed to find an hour to lie down and present my plea to God to allow me to rest. I can't say for sure whether or not I slept. Nor whether or not I dreamed. But I did do something.
Ever been in a state where you seem to be drifting off, yet you are still fully aware of what is going on around you, and you are completely unable to respond? Had my house been on fire, I would have recognized it, but I would have been unable to escape ~ such was my state of being at the time. It was what I imagine an out of body experience must be like. I knew the cat was lying beside me and I could hear vehicles traveling up and down the road as the images started forming in my mind. I knew I was no longer actively praying, but I also knew that I had been trying to renounce this demon since my head hit the pillow. Then, slowly, out of the fog in my mind, came the face of the day's evil. Acknowledging that I was dealing with, I attempted to renounce this evil, relying on a script I have tried before without success, when suddenly everything about me changed. From out of nowhere, it seemed, I had been doused with a confidence of which I had no idea I was capable combined with the stereotyped attitude of a righteous black women who had just proven you wrong. Though I couldn't see the look on my face, I could certainly see the look of surprise on the demon's face and the tuck of his tail as he slinked away by the command of a woman empowered by Christ. It was as if something crawled inside of me and took over, tapping into a power source I never know was available.
It was unsettling. And it concerns me. Because how is God power going to use this now that I know I have it?
What a bazaar experience. Not only am I not sure if I slept, but I'm not 100% certain whether or not I really did battle that day. What I do know is that I have enjoyed relatively pleasant sleep for the past few nights.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Exhaustion Or Justified Laziness
I should be doing homework. Lord knows I'm behind at the moment and feeling a little overwhelmed by the prospect of what it will take to catch up. I should be working out. I've managed to take a few pounds off since the first of the year, but now that school is back in session and I am sitting more while reading, a couple of those pounds have found me again. I should be doing housework. Much as I'd like to say that the 3 other people who live in my house notice what needs to be done and take action, but let's be honest ~ they're guys. Guys don't see the socks they just took off and threw on the floor, let alone the dog hair all over the carpet or the pink ring in the toilet. I should be doing all kinds of things. And yet, here I sit, at my computer, typing a blog.
I know I complain quite a bit about exhaustion. And for me it is a real, diagnosed condition. But like most people who have a chronic condition, I excel at wielding its powerful excuse potential. Today is the perfect example.
With this weird Ohio weather, I've been fighting sinus inflammation for the last several days. What started as tightness in my chest (very unusual, actually) moved up into my head and festered into a wicked sinus headache. I won't run if I can't breathe, though I did still manage to get my core and strength training done, and that headache could have taken down a raging bull. It took me down for about 10 hours. Yesterday, I was feeling more human and, though I was bogged down with the stress of the ever accumulating homework, did my interval run. I didn't really want to, but given the carb heavy lunch I'd eaten, I knew I needed to. And I felt accomplished for having done it.
Today, I worked, then went to lab. Time is always in a crunch on Saturdays this semester, so I never know if I will even have the opportunity to run. As luck would have it, I finished lab early, and driving home in the snow made me decided to skip church this evening, giving me plenty of time to get my workout in. Unfortunately, I didn't really feel like it. I stalled for an hour by getting some much neglected homework done, but finally slipped on the running shoes and headed for the treadmill. I decided to see how far I could sustain a 10 minute mile.
Remember, I've had a rough season with colds this year, and my head has never really been clear of congestion. This always gets annoying when snot starts to drip down the back of my throat, but it doesn't impeded my ability to breathe. The constriction that seems to be lingering in my chest from earlier this week, on the other hand, did a fine job of that. The first mile went well, the next half was rough, the half following that had me sucking wind. I gave up at the 2 mile mark ~ but I got there in 20 minutes.
As I walked my cool-down, my head was full of excuses. I had just gotten over some wicked sinus crud, after all, and my chest still feels kinda tight. My lungs just couldn't keep up with my legs this time. I always have a dip in the energy level after feeling crummy for a few days. I need to be patient and let my body recover. I wasn't very good about drinking my water today and I'm sure dehydration played a role in my lack of performance.
The simple fact of the matter is that I just didn't want to push through it today. Some days I have that scrapper mentality that nothing will beat me, other days I don't. Today was a "don't" day. But here's the question ~ am I truly exhausted, or just being lazy?
I had an acquaintance once tell me that it is exhausting for her to listen to me talk about the pace of my life. Certainly living it must be intense. Then there's the stress of my class load this semester, and the demands of my work, family, and ministry. Surely one is allowed to be tired from all of this every once in a while ~ or are these just more excuses for laziness?
I am never very good about discerning what is the devil chewing on my ear and what is truly conviction from God, and this gray area is no exception. I don't have the answer here, but I am looking for it.
I know I complain quite a bit about exhaustion. And for me it is a real, diagnosed condition. But like most people who have a chronic condition, I excel at wielding its powerful excuse potential. Today is the perfect example.
With this weird Ohio weather, I've been fighting sinus inflammation for the last several days. What started as tightness in my chest (very unusual, actually) moved up into my head and festered into a wicked sinus headache. I won't run if I can't breathe, though I did still manage to get my core and strength training done, and that headache could have taken down a raging bull. It took me down for about 10 hours. Yesterday, I was feeling more human and, though I was bogged down with the stress of the ever accumulating homework, did my interval run. I didn't really want to, but given the carb heavy lunch I'd eaten, I knew I needed to. And I felt accomplished for having done it.
Today, I worked, then went to lab. Time is always in a crunch on Saturdays this semester, so I never know if I will even have the opportunity to run. As luck would have it, I finished lab early, and driving home in the snow made me decided to skip church this evening, giving me plenty of time to get my workout in. Unfortunately, I didn't really feel like it. I stalled for an hour by getting some much neglected homework done, but finally slipped on the running shoes and headed for the treadmill. I decided to see how far I could sustain a 10 minute mile.
Remember, I've had a rough season with colds this year, and my head has never really been clear of congestion. This always gets annoying when snot starts to drip down the back of my throat, but it doesn't impeded my ability to breathe. The constriction that seems to be lingering in my chest from earlier this week, on the other hand, did a fine job of that. The first mile went well, the next half was rough, the half following that had me sucking wind. I gave up at the 2 mile mark ~ but I got there in 20 minutes.
As I walked my cool-down, my head was full of excuses. I had just gotten over some wicked sinus crud, after all, and my chest still feels kinda tight. My lungs just couldn't keep up with my legs this time. I always have a dip in the energy level after feeling crummy for a few days. I need to be patient and let my body recover. I wasn't very good about drinking my water today and I'm sure dehydration played a role in my lack of performance.
The simple fact of the matter is that I just didn't want to push through it today. Some days I have that scrapper mentality that nothing will beat me, other days I don't. Today was a "don't" day. But here's the question ~ am I truly exhausted, or just being lazy?
I had an acquaintance once tell me that it is exhausting for her to listen to me talk about the pace of my life. Certainly living it must be intense. Then there's the stress of my class load this semester, and the demands of my work, family, and ministry. Surely one is allowed to be tired from all of this every once in a while ~ or are these just more excuses for laziness?
I am never very good about discerning what is the devil chewing on my ear and what is truly conviction from God, and this gray area is no exception. I don't have the answer here, but I am looking for it.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
The Long Road Back
When I was a sophomore in high school, I endured the first of many episodes of depression. I don't remember if there was a true trigger, but I remember teachers approaching me with concern over my suddenly introverted behavior. I also don't remember my mother ever mentioning that she noticed a behavioral change, but I do remember her taking note of the fact that I seemed to be suddenly exhausted. Taking me to the doctor's, I again can't remember being diagnosed with depression (though in hindsight this is painfully obvious), but I do remember being diagnosed with prolonged extreme fatigue (though not prolonged enough to be considered chronic), and vitamin B shots were to be forthcoming. Also forthcoming would be a life long battle with prolonged cases of extreme fatigue.
When one suffers a true affliction of the immune system (gets sick), a degree of fatigue is often an unwelcome companion. With severe or prolonged illness, it is not unusual for fatigue to hang around a little longer then the invader. When my son had H1N1 a few years back, he was an incredibly sick boy for 5 days. The fatigue that accompanied this wicked flu hung on for 3 weeks. Considering what this virus put my son's body through, this was not unexpected. Thankfully, my boys do not often get sick, but when they do, they REALLY do.
Thankfully, I do not often get truly sick, either. Yes, I wage constant war against seasonal allergies and sinus inflammation, but I have a generally strong immune system to ward off the real bugs. My doctor knows that if he sees me as the patient instead of the chauffeur I'm probably dying.
Yet, 3 years ago, I picked up the worst case of bronchitis ever. For 3 weeks I sounded like I was coughing up a lung ~ which, by the way, is not a very relaxing sound in a massage room. Then, much to my kids' delight, I progressed into 3 weeks of laryngitis. Through it all, I was, without a doubt, exhausted.
Three weeks of an inability to breathe equated to 3 weeks of severe lack of physical activity. Three weeks of feeling like crap also equated to 3 weeks of eating comfort food. And I managed to gain a few pounds. But, I had every intention of getting back to the working out as soon as my energy level kicked back up. Unfortunately, that took 3 months.
Yes, for 3 months after recovering from the bronchitis bug, I suffered from a debilitating fatigue. It took every ounce of will power just to get out of bed in the mornings. After getting everyone out the door in the mornings, if I was fortunate enough to have the day off from work, I would lie on the couch and sleep until lunch. Then I would putter around the house a little, maybe clean a room, then lie back down until the kids came home from school. More puttering, followed by more lying down, would precede me ending up in bed for the night.
Work days were a sort of torture during this time. A physically intense job is even more challenging when one has no strength to put into it. By the grace of God, I would fumble through my mornings, sleep through lunch (and any other opening in my schedule), trip through my afternoon, and somehow manage to not fall asleep while driving home, only to crash into bed when I got there.
Vitamin B was my savior. Taking a high potency B complex twice a day for a couple of weeks finally kicked my rear back into gear. However, almost 4 month of inactivity had me sitting about 15lbs heavier. Insult to injury, for sure.
This winter, I have had the misfortune to catch 2 really nasty colds. This is highly unusual for me, but then, the teenager that hasn't been sick in 3 years also caught the flu, so I am guessing the bugs are a little more persistent this season. I tend to avoid working out when I can't breathe, so I took breaks from my schedule while I was sick. After the first cold, the weather turned for the ugly and running outside was rough in 30 degree temps on the heels of kicking a cold bug. Needless to say, I had to ease back in to an extent. The second cold has drained me a little more, and I seem to be back into an extreme fatigue pattern. Lucky me.
Before I got sick this time, I was back to my normal running schedule (4 days a week) and mileage (up to 5 per run) with upper body toning 3 days a week, lower body toning 2, and core training 6. Yeah, not so much now. Lately I've been lucky to get in 3 runs a week with the longest being only 3 miles. Workouts that I would do on my off days because they were so easy are now kicking my ass and my toning workouts are leaving my muscles fatigued for hours. Even yoga is exhausting.
Frustrating does not begin to describe these little episodes. And yet, the silver lining is that I have overcome before, and I will emerge victorious again. But as I get a little older, the road back seems to be getting a little longer. Thankfully, God and vitamin B will be holding my hands along the way.
When one suffers a true affliction of the immune system (gets sick), a degree of fatigue is often an unwelcome companion. With severe or prolonged illness, it is not unusual for fatigue to hang around a little longer then the invader. When my son had H1N1 a few years back, he was an incredibly sick boy for 5 days. The fatigue that accompanied this wicked flu hung on for 3 weeks. Considering what this virus put my son's body through, this was not unexpected. Thankfully, my boys do not often get sick, but when they do, they REALLY do.
Thankfully, I do not often get truly sick, either. Yes, I wage constant war against seasonal allergies and sinus inflammation, but I have a generally strong immune system to ward off the real bugs. My doctor knows that if he sees me as the patient instead of the chauffeur I'm probably dying.
Yet, 3 years ago, I picked up the worst case of bronchitis ever. For 3 weeks I sounded like I was coughing up a lung ~ which, by the way, is not a very relaxing sound in a massage room. Then, much to my kids' delight, I progressed into 3 weeks of laryngitis. Through it all, I was, without a doubt, exhausted.
Three weeks of an inability to breathe equated to 3 weeks of severe lack of physical activity. Three weeks of feeling like crap also equated to 3 weeks of eating comfort food. And I managed to gain a few pounds. But, I had every intention of getting back to the working out as soon as my energy level kicked back up. Unfortunately, that took 3 months.
Yes, for 3 months after recovering from the bronchitis bug, I suffered from a debilitating fatigue. It took every ounce of will power just to get out of bed in the mornings. After getting everyone out the door in the mornings, if I was fortunate enough to have the day off from work, I would lie on the couch and sleep until lunch. Then I would putter around the house a little, maybe clean a room, then lie back down until the kids came home from school. More puttering, followed by more lying down, would precede me ending up in bed for the night.
Work days were a sort of torture during this time. A physically intense job is even more challenging when one has no strength to put into it. By the grace of God, I would fumble through my mornings, sleep through lunch (and any other opening in my schedule), trip through my afternoon, and somehow manage to not fall asleep while driving home, only to crash into bed when I got there.
Vitamin B was my savior. Taking a high potency B complex twice a day for a couple of weeks finally kicked my rear back into gear. However, almost 4 month of inactivity had me sitting about 15lbs heavier. Insult to injury, for sure.
This winter, I have had the misfortune to catch 2 really nasty colds. This is highly unusual for me, but then, the teenager that hasn't been sick in 3 years also caught the flu, so I am guessing the bugs are a little more persistent this season. I tend to avoid working out when I can't breathe, so I took breaks from my schedule while I was sick. After the first cold, the weather turned for the ugly and running outside was rough in 30 degree temps on the heels of kicking a cold bug. Needless to say, I had to ease back in to an extent. The second cold has drained me a little more, and I seem to be back into an extreme fatigue pattern. Lucky me.
Before I got sick this time, I was back to my normal running schedule (4 days a week) and mileage (up to 5 per run) with upper body toning 3 days a week, lower body toning 2, and core training 6. Yeah, not so much now. Lately I've been lucky to get in 3 runs a week with the longest being only 3 miles. Workouts that I would do on my off days because they were so easy are now kicking my ass and my toning workouts are leaving my muscles fatigued for hours. Even yoga is exhausting.
Frustrating does not begin to describe these little episodes. And yet, the silver lining is that I have overcome before, and I will emerge victorious again. But as I get a little older, the road back seems to be getting a little longer. Thankfully, God and vitamin B will be holding my hands along the way.
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