Gratitude for the Plans I Didn't Make

This year I was asked to be part of a writing team for my church's Women's Ministries blog. I get to contribute, along with some amazing women and writers, three different times this year, and I'm honored to have been asked. Here is my first post:

November is the month we are reminded to be thankful. At the top of this year’s November list is my thankfulness that God’s plans far exceed anything I could dream up for myself. In short, I’m thankful for God’s sovereignty.

When Jon and I first got married, we had plans. I was teaching and Jon was a bicycle mechanic. We weren’t going to have kids for at least five years. We were going to travel the world. Open to missions, we assumed God was going to call us to use our talents serving in another country.

In the middle of my first year as a full time classroom teacher, I received an e-mail from my sister-in-law, Danielle. She and her husband, Dave, were spending their first year in Guayaquil, Ecuador. Danielle was teaching at an international school, and Dave was along for the ride. They were living our dream.

Danielle’s e-mail informed me that her school was in need of a 5th grade teacher for the following year and that I should really think about applying for the job. Jon and I immediately assumed this was our calling. God was going to use my teaching credential to get us into another culture, and Jon was going minister to the local people by fixing their bikes and riding with them.

Jon and I knew we shouldn’t get too excited yet, and that we needed to pray. We prayed together, and separately, for weeks until deciding that the next step was to apply for the job. We asked God to let us know if we were making the right decision, and to open and close doors, as we began down this road, as He saw fit.

About a month went by, and I was contacted by the principal of the school. He had filled the position, but he would keep my resume and information for future school years. Ok, God, you made that one clear. We’re not going. We get to stay in our comfort zone, I will continue teaching, and Jon will continue to wrench on bikes. Here.

Two months later I received another email from the principal. He unexpectedly had an opening available and wondered if I’d be interested in teaching 2^nd grade at his school? Jon and I were confused. Hadn’t God already told us no?

We prayed even more. We went through the necessary steps to proceed down the same road we thought we’d been steered off. After a handful of Skype dates, countless e-mails, and more prayer, I was hired. By the swiftly approaching summer, we were scheduled to move to a foreign country, barely speaking the native language, separated from most of our family and friends, and teach in a brand new school. Preparing for all the changes was an emotional bungee jump.

Next came the logistics: collecting paperwork, notarizing documents, getting blood tests, buying plane tickets, selling most of our belongings, packing, and finding a place to live during the interim phase between an expired rental agreement and our departure date.

Summer came and we were ready. We had turned in our keys and stored the few belongings we had left in my parents’ attic. As a married-for-almost-two-years couple we were living in my old room, under my parents’ roof. Waiting.

Four weeks before our scheduled flight to Ecuador, Jon and I had just returned from a dear friend’s wedding in Mexico City. We had both gotten rather sick at the end of our weeklong trip, blaming it on too many carnitas tacos. But we’d been home for a week and I still didn’t feel good. In fact, I started throwing up. Somehow I knew in my heart what the “problem” was, and tested my theory. I was right, and I was pregnant.

To put it simply, my boss told me not to come. His wife was informed of our situation and she told him to tell us we didn’t want to have our baby in Guayaquil. The decision was never ours to make. So… we were both unemployed, living at my parents’ house with one car and hardly any stuff. And I was pregnant.

Sometimes I wonder if Jon and I weren’t listening to God’s direction five years ago. Were we so set on our desired traveling lifestyle that we missed the “no” God was trying to tell us? Were we praying for what we wanted, instead of what He wanted, and assuming He was leading the way?

But my hopeful idea has more depth than that. Is it possible that sometimes God is simply trying to see just how far we will go for Him? We say we surrender all, and we will follow Him anywhere. But will we? Even if it leads us right back to where we started?

How this experience has strengthened our marriage and faith is immeasurable. A short list of God’s provisions in the confusing weeks following our unexpected news includes: Jon getting his job back; me getting a new, more local teaching job; finding an affordable and reliable car; the perfect apartment opening up the same week we found out we were staying…

And a short list of the opportunities which would have been impossible had we moved to South America: me mentoring a HUB group of teenage girls at ABC through their four years of high school, creating eternal bonds and relationships; Jon opening his own bike shop and becoming a well known influence in San Luis Obispo; me becoming a mother and spiritual teacher to two little girls who I love more than life.

My in-laws are still living our dream. But it’s not my dream anymore.

Jeremiah 29:11 – “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’”

Passions

30 Things My Kids Should Know About Me #8:

What are 5 passions you have?

In a way, some of these prompts overlap each other. Things that make me happy may be passions. My dream job may be a passion. What I spend my time and love on are obviously passions.

So I may describe some of these briefly since I've written about them previously.

#1: My marriage. Being a wife that my husband wants to come home to and spend his time with is something I'm willing to work hard to do. One of my priorities in life is to protect my marriage. There are many reason for this. To make living together bearable -- preferably fun. To do my part to contribute to the circle of love and respect that marriage requires. To know that I am always trying to do what I can to make our relationship strong, which in turn makes it less and less likely that it will break. To be an example to our girls what marriage should look like. I want them in no uncertain terms to know what is an unacceptable way to be treated, and how to treat their partner in an acceptable way. To prove that being married is fun, not a joke on a sitcom that is to be mocked or bitterly complained about at every opportunity. Most importantly, when I decided to marry Jon, I made a promise, and I won't break it. Jon is a passion of mine, so my relationship is a passion.

#2: Raising Kealani and Leila. I pour myself into my girls every single day. I fail miserably sometimes, but I am trying to be an example of love and forgiveness while attempting to teach them to become respectful and productive members of society (not entitled imps) every waking moment. I do my best to show them the grace of God through my own actions. I am physically, emotionally, and spiritually drained at the end of most days, yet I wake up excited to do it again each morning. If that doesn't constitute a passion, I don't know what does.

#3: Children and young people. Aside from my own daughters, I love other people's kids. From teaching preschool/elementary/middle/high school, tutoring, counseling high school girls through my church -- I get attached to kids. I want to see them become better people, learn from their mistakes, gain knowledge, and in some cases even become their friends. I can't help it, I just love them.

#4: My relationship with God. I don't pursue Him like I should all the time, but I've experienced enough highs, lows, and big decisions in my life to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that He exists. That while He allows me to make my own decisions, He cares what those decisions are, and He's with me every step of the way. I couldn't be a mother without trusting Him with my daughters' lives. There's not enough room in one blog to list all the ways I've seen Him work in my own, and others' lives, so I won't try. But extending His love to others and hoping that they also see Him at work in their lives is a passion.

#5: Writing. I was always the student who loved the literature/history side of academics as opposed to math/science. I devour books and enjoy writing. I started this blog about two years ago because I felt that there was an untapped passion in my life that wasn't getting utilized. I felt unfulfilled, and it took me a while to figure out why. I don't need people to read what I write. I enjoy hearing what people think, especially if they are entertained, and I truly hope my girls take interest in what I have to say when they are older. But if no one ever read my writing, if my girls never care, I would still enjoy it. It's a creative outlet for me, and it makes me happy.

My Dream Job

30 Things My Kids Should Know About Me #7:

What is your dream job, and why?

Lucky for me, my dream job is exactly what I'm doing right now... but I never would have known it was my dream job until I got to do it. Motherhood is exhausting, thankless, terrifying, around-the-clock insanity, and it is the hardest thing I have ever done. But it is also the most rewarding, loving, and eternal job anyone could ever have.

That being said, my dream career (as in I-get-paid-for-what-I-went-to-school-for-and-am-actually-qualified-to-do-it) is being a school teacher. Again, lucky for me, I got a chance to do this in my lifetime. I went to college and earned a Bachelor of Arts in Liberal Studies from Westmont College in Santa Barbara. I then moved home and attended Chapman University to attain my teaching credential in elementary education.

I spent a total of almost three years substitute teaching -- in between classes, observations, and my own student teaching. Then I won a third grade position in King City. The following year I taught fifth grade at Atascadero's Fine Arts Academy until the end of January 2009 as I anxiously awaited the arrival of my first beauty, Kealani.

That's all the teaching I wound up doing. To be perfectly honest, it's all I believe I will ever do, at least as an official classroom teacher. I loved my job. Now that I have done both, I am convinced that being a teacher (of any kind) is the closest position anyone could have to being a parent. (I assume being an aunt could shimmy its way in between the two, but that is something I've yet to experience!) The time, love, encouragement, instruction, counsel, entertainment, frustration, and desire to see your student achieve his/her best comes only second to that student's actual parents' own. (And unfortunately, sometimes it's first.)

Teaching is not a job you can "leave at the office". My concerns, as well as pride over my students' accomplishments, followed me home each night. My grading and planning followed me home. My desire to give my students the best I could reached into my own pocketbook. When you are influencing other people's lives, especially young people's, it burns its way into your consciousness and never leaves. I still think about my first set of students and it's already been five years since I taught their class. I wonder what they're doing now that they are in eighth grade. I hope that they have stayed away from their city's gangs, and have managed not to become too friendly with the opposite sex.

I loved teaching because I was good at it. I'm not bragging, I just firmly believe that there are specific things we are created to do. While there are countless jobs I would be horrible at, I was created to teach, and I felt comfortable and successful in it. I commanded a room full of 20-33 students at a time, kept their attention, got them to do what I asked, instilled knowledge in their tiny brains, and loved every minute of it. There are aspects of teaching that take away from the students. I hated these, as every teacher does. These aspects are only growing worse, which is why I don't for a second wish I was back in the classroom as opposed to being at home with my precious 4 and 1 year olds.

Sometimes I wonder why I went through all the school and training I did only to end up being a classroom teacher for 1 1/2 years. I don't regret it, I just wonder what it was for. I hope and pray that it was for the influence I had in those classrooms of students' lives during the time I was their teacher. I hope and pray my experience dealing with kids of all ages helps me to be a better mom, and gives me compassion for my girls' teachers when they begin school.

I'm a mom. I'm still a teacher. I get to do both of my dream jobs every single day, and I am immensely thankful for that.

Happy Makers

30 Things My Kids Should Know About Me #5:

What are the five things that make you most happy right now?

Baking treats. The planning, the shopping, the execution of a delicious recipe, the anticipation as I wait to taste the finished product, Kealani helping me mix, eating half the batter/dough before the product is finished, the smell. All of these components make me happy. And the best part is being excited about later, when Jon comes home -- after dinner is served, cleared, and the girls are in bed, we get to enjoy a tasty treat together, relaxing in each others' company.

Reading. A fresh book, a digital edition on my Kindle, a magazine, it doesn't really matter. Letting my brain take time off from the reality of being a full time mom seven days a week is a vacation. It improves my memory, vocabulary, and writing skills. I grow attached to characters and stories so much so that when a book, or even worse a series, comes to an end, I have what I've heard referred to as a "book hangover"... it's the state of depression entered knowing it's all over and you're done hanging out with some of your newest, closest friends. Luckily I can go back to a favorite book any time I want and start all over again. Which is what I do.

Listening to my daughters laugh. There's not much to explain here. In general, a human being's laughter is a pleasant sound, 99% of the time. That sound is infinitely more enjoyable when it's coming from your children. Multiply that a few more times by infinity when they are laughing with each other.

Running. Specifically, racing long distances. If you'd have told me ten years ago that running would end up being my workout of choice and something that I actually enjoyed doing, let alone something I would get pretty proficient at, I'd have snorted my Wild Cherry Pepsi out of my nose all over your shirt. Running has become my reboot time. It has helped me lose baby weight, stay healthy, and gain energy needed to keep up with my young girls. I'm competitive by nature, and since running is a solo sport, it allows me to challenge and compete with myself in a way that I couldn't experience playing team sports. It's hard, and many days I just don't want to do it. But I have never regretted going for a run. I've only regretted not going.

Date night. Any time spent with Jon makes me happy. Family time is priceless, but there's something unique about the time I spend with him alone. Our conversation is different, because we're not filtering ourselves, or being interrupted. I am transported back to our dating days and instantly remember why I love being around him so much. Also why I want to continue being around him.

Why Would You Pay Money to Run?

 

This weekend my husband Jon and I ran the Surf City USA Marathon and Half Marathon, respectively. The race was in Huntington Beach, which is a super fun place to be, even if it is the OC. (No disrespect to Orange County, I was born there... but seriously. Ever since Laguna Beach I just can't take that place too seriously.) This wasn't either of our first races, but it was by far the largest, and Jon's first full marathon. Experiencing an event like this had me reflecting on some things I've learned over the years about runners.

There are several types of runners:

• The Elitist: this is the runner who can actually run a marathon (that's 26.2 whole miles) at a pace somewhere around 5-6 minute miles. For the entire course. (I believe the best time I've ever run a mile in is around 8:15. That was "sprinting", and I could stop when that one mile was over.) These are the kind of people you can look at and know immediately they are runners. Their bodies are made for it. When they enter a race with 16,000 other people, they are actually trying to win. These are the runners who wish people like me wouldn't sign up for marathons because we "lower the bar", and it seems that nowadays anyone can participate in a marathon. (See this http://gothamist.com/2009/10/23/you_call_that_marathon_running.php) Here's what I don't understand: how are the slower people getting in anyone's way? I still have never run a full marathon, but if I did, you fast people surely would never even see me. You'd be enjoying the finish line beer garden and probably wrapping up lunch long before I'd see the end of 26.2 miles.
• The Healthy, I-Run-to-Stay-Fit Runner: these people may not be able to keep up with Elitists, but they are super fit, live annoyingly healthy lifestyles, and seem to be perpetually training for the next race. If you let them know you're interested in running, or that you've signed up for a race 6 months from now, they get overly excited and running becomes the only thing they will talk about every time you run into them. They even offer to be your running partner, in which case you panic because really, they run twice as fast as you, and all you want to do is listen to your iPod, not run alongside someone gasping for breath and clutching at your heart as you talk about running while you're running.
• The Just-for-Fun Runner: I'm not sure why people who have never even walked a couple miles would hear about a 13.1 or 26.2 mile race and think to themselves "That sounds sounds entertaining! I'll do it!" But they're out there. I passed a bunch of them on Sunday. I love these runners, because most of them are attempting something that they most likely thought impossible mere months before the race. These runners are moms of every age, middle aged men and women who have beaten cancer, young people raising money in honor of a loved one, and even 85-year-old women (not gonna lie, I worry about the 85 year olds... they inspire me until I see them out on the course, then I want to put them on my back and carry them the rest of the way just so they don't keel over in the middle of the street). These runners wear shirts that say things like, "I'm slow, get over it" and "Does this T-shirt make my ass look fast?" They are awesome because they are out there, they are trying, and they have fabulous attitudes. They are also the only ones I can actually pass, so they make me feel super fast. 
• The Barefoot Runner: Yes, there are actually people who run barefoot. For 13 or 26 miles. Some of them wear funny looking shoes, like these: http://www.vibramfivefingers.com, some of them are truly barefoot. One of them passed me in the race Sunday, wearing only socks.  I cringed a little.
• The I-only-played-team-sports-in-high-school-and-since-none-of-my-friends-would-play-volleyball-with-me-I-had-to-find-something-else-to-keep-me-from-becoming-obese-and-my-best-friend-talked-me-into-signing-up-for-a-half-marathon-four-years-ago Runner: Me. 

I "dabbled" in running when I graduated from high school because it was easy to do alone, I didn't have to buy gear, and as much as I hated it, it made me feel somewhat proactive toward staying healthy. Then Lauren convinced me to attend a meeting for Team in Training, an organization that trains regular people to complete marathons, 1/2 marathons, triathlons, and century bike rides. All while raising money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. We listened to the spiel, wrote our checks for $75, and walked away with our TNT water bottles (their abbreviation is TNT instead of TIT, for obvious reasons). We were going to run a 1/2 marathon! Oh, crap. 

We made our way through the training, and with about four weeks to go, I developed ITB Syndrome (it hurts... a common knee injury for runners), and Lauren gave herself a hairline fracture in her foot. After all our fund-raising, training, and enthusiasm for doing something that seemed impossible (yes, we fell into the "Just-for-Fun" category at the time), we were going to have to walk. Walk. 13.1 miles. We ended up starting and finishing together after 3 1/2 hours of walking next to the ocean, up and down some monster hills, on a gorgeous day in Santa Barbara. We just had to laugh. Until we got back to the hotel and had to sit in the bathtub in our shorts and sports bras while Nick and Jon dumped buckets of ice over us. (A post race ice bath was strongly suggested by our trainers... I will never sit in ice by choice again.) I couldn't walk for about a week after the race, but I will always be grateful that Lauren got me off my butt.

A couple years later, I had my daughter. Nothing could have prepared me for the brutality bestowed upon me by childbirth. I felt like I had been run over, several times, by a semi, and for at least two weeks it hurt just to walk to the bathroom. At that point I hadn't run in a long time. One reason was that my ITBS never fully went away, and if I overdid it, I could feel the lingering pain of my 2 1/2 year old injury, and I was terrified to push it too far. After having Kealani I was fully convinced I would never run again. Ha! I could hardly walk, how would I ever run?

Slowly but surely, my body went back to itself. A different version of itself, but itself nonetheless. I resumed my "dabbling" in running until K was almost a year and a half old. That's when I started to train for the first race since my walking debut in Santa Barbara. It was a 10K in Morro Bay, on the beach. I put up a training schedule on my fridge, and went for it. (I will only enjoy regular physical activities if I can cross them off a calendar as I go.) I loved it. I knew I was crazy. I was loving running. I felt strong, and in better shape than I'd been since my first training experience. That's when I decided that running was my thing. It has proven to be the best way for me to stay in shape and to be at my healthiest. So next came the 1/2 marathons. Again, I was terrified, since a 1/2 is more than twice the distance of a 10K, and the last time I'd attempted that distance I'd injured myself pretty badly. On 10-10-10, I ran the City to Sea race. Yes, I ran it! I felt so accomplished.

In the last seven months I've run the 10K and three 1/2 marathons. Now I'm taking a break. I will continue running, but not nearly as far. My body is ready for a break, and I want to treat it well so I can use it for a long time... but when I feel my competitive nature gnawing at me again, I'm sure I'll sign up for another race. (In the meantime I'd better stop eating so much. #1 reason to run a race: the t-shirt; #2 reason: so I can eat whatever I want.)

During my first training experience I learned that I can run pretty far. I also learned that a lot of people think runners are crazy. The first words out of Jon's mouth when I told him I wanted to sign up for a race after the baby were, "Why would you pay money to run?" Well, partly because you get a sweet t-shirt and a medal when you finish. But mostly because I feel healthy, strong, and accomplished when I reach a goal I've set for myself. It's something I very much hope to pass on to Kealani: not only can you do things you may have never thought you can do, but living an active and healthy lifestyle is fun. Will she be competitive to a fault, like her mom, or will she just be able to enjoy being active and outside, like her dad? I guess we'll have to wait and see.

The Walking Wonders

P.S. There are plenty of other kinds of runners. The groups I listed stick out the most to me, and have lots of people representing them! I'm sure most people would fit into more than one group.

Mirror

Three years ago I started a blog, intending to chronicle the exciting life I was about to embark on. I had just been hired to teach at an international school in Ecuador, and figured the process, and eventually the move and job itself, would provide experiences worthy of writing about. I’ll save the story for another time, but due to a major life event, my husband Jon and I ended up staying right here in San Luis Obispo County, CA. I occasionally made pathetic attempts at blogging about my “boring” life, but I always felt a little bit let down by the loss of an opportunity to write.

Recently I started thinking about a class I took while attending Westmont College. It was Advanced Composition: a requirement for my Liberal Studies degree that would lead to obtaining a teaching credential. It ended up being my all time favorite class. We wrote in journals. We wrote vignettes. We read each others’ stories and discussed. We ultimately ended up writing about glimpses from our lives — sort of super-abridged autobiographies. I don’t know if it was my own ego, the desire to be heard, or simply the fact that I love to write, and “me” was the subject I knew best… but I found that writing stories about my life and experiences was one of my favorite things to do.

I love to read and write. There’s something therapeutic about cozying up with a great book and losing myself in a well told story. There’s also something therapeutic about writing about life. It’s like looking into a mirror; noticing in that moment what’s already there, observing features that have been formed over time, or seeing the potential for what could be. It can be painful seeing yourself for who you really are. It can also be encouraging when you realize how far you’ve come. I love reading old journals. Sometimes I laugh out loud at how ridiculous I sound, sometimes I want to cry as I am pulled back through the heartbreak I was feeling at a time when the only thing I knew might help was to write about it.

The title of this blog was inspired by a song. Here are some of the lyrics:

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall, have I got it?
‘Cause Mirror you’ve always told me who I am
I’m finding it’s not easy to be perfect
So sorry you won’t define me, sorry you don’t own me

Who are you to tell me that I’m less than what I should be?
Who are you? Who are you?
I don’t need to listen to the list of things I should do
I won’t try, no, I won’t try”

There’s more to it, but I’ll save that for later.

So here goes my new attempt. Writing about life. Looking into the mirror, remembering things and learning more about that person in the silver glass.