I've been reading back through my journal entries from a year ago and this is what I wrote this day last year: 9/20/08 You're my Father and I am Your child. That's a concept I'm starting to grasp. You love me. You want me to run to You and climb into Your lap--when I'm joyful so you can celebrate with me and bounce me up and down on Your knee, when I'm thankful for the blessings you give me and wrap my arms around Your neck, squeezing You with a hug of gratitude as You smile because Your child enjoyed Your gift so much. When I'm scared and You hold me tight as You whisper, "It's okay, Daddy's got you," and I feel completely safe in Your arms. When I'm sad and You caress me gently as I lean into Your chest and sob--You let me, and You listen, and You assure me, "Everything's gonna be alright," and right then, I believe it, because I'm in the arms of my Father, the Most High God. Father, thank You for that powerful imagery. But as I am reminded that you are a loving Father, let me not forget that You are a holy, righteous judge that hates sin. What I need to remember though, is that You can be both--and You are. O, that I would hate sin as You do. That I would remember the freedom I have in Christ and not get so hung up over my mistakes, but also that I would not discount my sin or take it lightly because You don't. I am a saint-not a perfect one, but one that You are sanctifying day by day. My struggles will not disappear overnight, but with Your grace, I will, over time, conquer them. ... and it goes on. But I'm not going to post that here. :P I just wanted to share that one part. Good night.

9/1/08

An entry from my journal a year ago today: This is such a gorgeous day. I was lying here in the grass, listening to some lively celtic music and reading about the reign of Christ and how some day, even the most barren of places will be flourishing. I imagined a glimpse of what that might possibly be like, and imagined running over lush, green fields without a worry, and it made my heart glad. I look forward to Christ's return. Aside: September is my favorite.

It's a big, big house

So, another note about running.  When I run, I tend to think a lot, and write in my head. About a lot of different things. It usually never comes out the same on paper, or rather, computer screen? But really, it's okay. I've learned that it's okay.  I love runs like the one I had tonight, where I run longer than I planned, and faster than I thought I could. I love it when I outdo myself. It's much better than overestimating myself and then not living up to those expectations. Not that I'm an advocate for aiming low, but I think I'm learning to be more of a realist. I'm either usually over optimistic, or pessimistic. I'm learning to be more in the middle, and I'm learning by experience.  Tonight, I ran to the beach.  I usually turn left out of my neighborhood and head towards Birch Ave., and then cut through Jenny Grist Mill to get to the waterfront. Depending on how I feel, I either turn left and go down the waterfront, or turn right and head back through Stephen's Field. Tonight, I decided, I'm going to run to the beach--even though Warren Ave is hilly, and I haven't ran all week. So, I turned right out of my neighborhood, reminding myself that I didn't have to go fast, and trying to convince myself I'd make it to the beach and back.  On the way down Warren Ave., I passed a house for sale. For those of you who are familiar with Plymouth, you know that Warren Ave. is home to some of the nicest houses in town, many of them with, not to mention, oceanfront views. So I ran past this one house, and for a moment wished there was some possible way I could possibly buy that house. "Not in a million years..." I thought to myself.  On the way back, though, something occurred to me. Someday I'm going to live in a house wayyy bigger and better than that one, or, at the very least, nicer. And, unless I live to be a million years old, I don't have to wait that long! Because Jesus said He's preparing a place for me, and in His Father's house are many mansions. And He makes this clear. It's like He's telling His disciples, "Look guys, believe me--I'm not pulling your legs. I wouldn't be telling you this if it weren't true. I know you've given up everything--the comfort of a family, and a home, and a steady-paying job--to follow Me. But I'm telling you, it's all worth it, because someday, you're going to be with me forever in Heaven, and it's going to be better than anything on earth."  So I smiled, because I could spend my life trying to make enough money to buy a house on Warren Ave., but why? I can't take that house with me into eternity, and I'll have a better one waiting for me when I get there. Wouldn't I rather give up everything to follow Jesus? Yes. Don't get me wrong. Living in nice houses with oceanfront views is not wrong. If you're blessed enough to live in such a home, be thankful. And if God chooses to bless me with one while I'm here on earth, I'll be thankful. But that's not what I'm aiming for. My aim is to follow Jesus--even if that means giving up everything I have, if that's what He asks of me.

Sigh.  We'll see how this goes. Things like this never come out how I want them to; I write in my head before I can actually get to the computer, but I can never quite execute it in quite the same way. Like tonight. Tonight I went for a run, and then I stopped. I stopped, and I thought, and I started writing in my head. And now, I can't remember exactly how that went. I suppose that's alright, though, and that I ought to stop being so pessimistic. One of the things that I do enjoy about writing is being random and sporadic, and just writing what comes to mind at that moment. I'm not out to write a novel or anything. I'm a pretty simple person. Ha- wait. Did I actually just say that? Think that? Well, I guess in some ways I am, but that is an entirely different subject. I feel as though these things are hard to follow because they usually have no direction. But, I'm not aiming to write anything cohesive, with any particular underlying theme and why am I still rambling? This is so not even the reason behind this post. I'll stop and get on with it--after I tell you that I've attempted to write things like this before, and they don't come out how I expect them to, so I give up. Being a perfectionist has kept me from doing things that I fear I won't excel at (I've already gone back and read this post until this point, and was frustrated with how bland and unexcited it sounds). Like the time in 8th grade when I didn't run the Turkey Trot, because I won the year before, and I was afraid I would lose that year. I said I didn't feel well, which was true, but I still could have run.  One Friday, a Friday that happened to be quite possibly the hottest day of the summer yet up until that point, I went for a run at 2 o'clock in the afternoon. 2 o'clock in the afternoon. Why? I don't know. There's part of me that enjoys that blistering midday heat, but usually while I'm in the midst of it I'm thinking, "What in the world was I thinking? Why did I do this to myself?" Mind you, I hadn't run in quitea while prior to this, so add not being in tip top shape to that hot July sun, and it did not make for a pleasant time. I was listening to my iPod, which meant that my pace usually changed as the songs did, which also meant that I started out faster than I probably should have. I couldn't keep that pace the whole time. In fact, by the time I got to Nook Road (the road I usually turn onto before turning onto the road my street is off of, which is that "so close, yet so far away" point), I was shuffling so pathetically that somebody just walking down that street could have passed me with ease. But I was determined. Even if I was going slower than walking pace, I would not stop and walk, because that would mean giving up. I would not give up. It's a good thing nobody was walking down that street, because they probably would have thought I was a lunatic. I prayed. Out loud. I talked to God, and to myself. I likened that run to a battle--one that I would not lose. And I shuffled along, asking God to give me victory. That was a day to learn a lesson in perseverance. Life gets tough, and just like I'm going to stick out this run, I'm going to stick out those tough times when they come. I'm going to persevere. With God running behind me, beside me, holding me up and pushing me along, I will be victorious. And as I turned onto South Street, that pathetic shuffle transformed into a full-on sprint; the people at the nursing home beside my neighborhood were probably thinking, "Why is this girl frantically sprinting down the street?" But I didn't care what they thought; I didn't care what anyone thought at that moment. I went faster and faster, pushing harder and harder until I reached the end of my street. I would not settle for less than giving my best; I would only be satisfied knowing every step was taken with every effort to go harder, faster, stronger. I crossed over into Mayflower Village and doubled over. Victory. At that moment, I wanted to throw up. I thought, "This was so stupid to do this to myself-- to run at 2 in the afternoon, and push myself that hard after not having run in a while." But it was so worth it. I needed that run. I needed to learn that lesson.  That's one of the things I love about running. Tonight, I learned a different lesson. It had been over a week since I ran, for various reasons, or excuses. I knew tonight's run wasn't going to be like the one I just described. In fact, I left my iPod at home so I wouldn't be tempted to run at a faster pace than I would be able to keep. It was humid. Humidity+running+asthma= not a good combination. My body felt good, and I wanted to keep up a pretty good pace, but my lungs wouldn't allow it. Frustration. Iran staggered through Stephen's Field, with the same determination not to stop and walk. As I turned out of there and onto Sandwich Street, I was pleasantly surprised to find that stagger slowly accelerate to more of a brisk bounce. I was even more pleasantly surprised to find a former fellow Plymouth North cross country team member running across the street from me. I called out, "Kacey!" She looked over, surprised to see me, too, and ran across to join me. We ran together for a bit, and instead of turning down Nook Road like I usually do, I kept going with her for a little longer. She was going considerably faster than I was, so it was a bit of a challenge to keep up with her. I was thankful for it, though. She continued on her way towards the beach, and I turned up Obery Street to head back home. Shortly after we departed, my pace slowed rapidly to an upright crawl. Remember that slower-than-walking pace I was talking about before? Yep--that again. Once I got up the hill the pace picked up a little bit, and I turned to cut through Plymouth North as a shortcut. When I got to the front parking lot, I looked straight ahead to see the sunset over the bottom of the hill down below. I thought to myself, "If I keep running, I won't really get to soak in all of this beauty." But that determination not to stop retorted back with, "Oh, well, I'll just keep going." But I continued to think about it, and stopped. And I was okay with that. I had already run longer than I had anticipated, and it's not like I was falling short of some expectation or goal I had set for myself. I stopped, walked, and enjoyed the gorgeous sunset. And I was reminded that I don't have to be perfect all the time. I don't have to finish every run at the speed of lightning. I don't even have to get mad at myself for using cliches when I write. Haha. I don't have to feel bad that I was struggling to keep up with Kacey, when I haven't been running consistently, and she's been training for an upcoming season of college cross country. Instead, I looked at my watch and thought, "43 minutes? That's not bad for not having run for over a week, and not running consistently before then."  Tonight, I was reminded again of why I love running. And learned another valuable lesson. Nobody else expects me to be perfect. Not even God. That's why He sent His Son to die for me. He knew I could never keep the whole Law on my own. He knew, that without sending His Son, I and the rest of humanity would be destined for Hell with no hope of salvation. Even Paul gladly boasted in his own weaknesses. And I should do the same. Like I said, God doesn't expect me to be perfect. But He does expect me to come to Him with my weaknesses, because in them His strength is made perfect. I am weak, but He is strong. Tonight, I rejoiced over not being perfect, and reveled in the freedom of knowing I don't have to be.

Beauty

I like to draw sometimes. I'm no professional artist, but I've certainly graduated from the stick-figure academy. Every once in a while I find myself drawing people--faces, mainly. Most of the time though, they don't come out exactly how I want them to. I usually try to add some finishing touches here and there, but I usually end up making it worse. I started drawing tonight and got to thinking about the Master Artist, God Himself. As I tried to add more, the picture seemed to be getting worse. And the thought occurred to me, "God never has to go back and add any finishing touches. He's pleased with what He makes, first time around."

"And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good." Genesis 1:31

God delights in what He makes. I tell this to kids when I'm teaching: "God loves you just the way you are because He made you just how He wanted you to be." But how often do I actually believe that myself? If I spent more time remembering God delights in who I am and what I look like because He made me that way, I'd probably spend less time being discontent and focusing on my flaws. God doesn't need any do-overs. He doesn't look at anything He's made and say, "Oops. Where's the eraser?" No. God makes each thing, each person, deliberately, how He wants them to be, including me. Including you. 

My nana has a magnet on her refrigerator that says, "I'm great. God doesn't make junk!" It makes me smile every time I see it, because it's so true. How many times do we look in the mirror and think, "Yikes"? Or how many times do we pass a random stranger on the street and think, "Man, I'm glad I don't look like them"? Well, guess what: God looks at each of us and says, "Wow. I made her. She's absolutely beautiful." I've spent a lot of time thinking lately, "Someday, a guy will fall in love with me and think I'm breathtakingly beautiful." I've realized, though, that I can't think that way; I can't wait around for that. Because the truth is, the God of the Universe already finds me captivating, and loves me more than any imperfect human being ever could. So why am I so hungry for human adoration that will never truly satisfy?

I don't know, but I have a feeling I'm not the only one struggling with this. Yeah, it's a struggle, but the wonderful thing about it is that God is using it to magnify His love for me. I hear Him whisper, "Darling, I already find you beautiful--I love you, and have always loved you, more than anyone ever will or ever could." And I respond, "Oh yeah, Daddy. I'm sorry. What was I thinking?" I'm reminded of the amazing truth that God created me the way I am for a reason, and has a special purpose for me to fulfill. And I slowly grow more content and more confident in the woman He has made me.

One final thought: 

"So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them." Genesis 1:27. If God created us in His own image, how could we be anything less than beautiful? Sure, we made a mess of things when sin entered the world. But that didn't change the fact that we are still made in His image. Think about that. You are made in the image of the Almighty Creator of the Universe, the Most High God. You are beautiful. I am beautiful. How could we be anything less?