'Bout Time, Summer

I love summer! I am done with classes and can take a deep breath and just enjoy these next few months before things get really crazy next fall.

I get to spend all day every day with the sweetest, funniest boy I know.

My bestest friends are almost freed from the bonds of teaching for the summer, hence hangout time - zoos, parks, playdates.

My sister and her boys come in a couple weeks for a glorious month of relentless family bonding - and I mean that in the best possible way.

My husband and I are starting a small group for young adults which I am SO excited about.

Plus, I am actually enjoying running. Today as I rolled out of bed at 7 a.m., I smiled when I saw that the sun was shining and it was a beautiful morning. I kind of couldn't wait to get out there.

So far, I have run 5 days since last Monday. On Saturday, I wasn't planning to run, but I was feeling cranky and just feeling like I needed to blow off some steam. So I ran, faster than I ever had before, in the wind (unprecedented!), and by the time I got home, I felt almost giddy. Mood swings: meet your match. Her name is running and she's a beast.

Today, I am eager to check off one thing off my to-do list. I get to go to the library and dig for new books to read!!

I love libraries. I get tiny little butterflies when I think about going to one - no joke. Ahhhh.....books. Endless supplies of books.

Even as a little girl I loved libraries. My mom would bring Josh and I there on Saturdays and then we would scatter. I would hole up somewhere in the teen fiction - probably right between The Baby-Sitters Club and Sweet Valley books. Literally planted on the floor, I would have piles around me, trying to decided which ones to check out. After all, my mom always gave us a limit of 7.

If I am being embarrassingly honest, I would still wander to that same section as an adult - back when the books were still being written - because I wanted to see what continued to happen to my favorite BSC girls from Stoneybrook. Were they still perpetually 13? Would they ever graduate to high school? How many times exactly could they re-live 8th grade?

So that's my agenda today. And it's fantastic.

Ahhhhhhh, summer.

On an equally sunny summer note, this past Friday was a big day for my husband - a day that he has been waiting a good year for. In many ways, I think he has been waiting most of his life for this day.

It was Avengers day.

As a little boy growing up, Matt devoured comic books and the escapism fantasy that they offered. Even now as a grown man, he can still get lost in the intricate back stories and superpowers of his favorite characters.

So Friday came. Matt had arranged for his mom to come to town and sit with Finn so that we could go together. I got a t-shirt for the occasion.

We got to the movie early and sat about halfway up the stadium seating. After a couple minutes, Matt decided it was a little too close, so we moved back to a more ideal spot in the last, top row.

As the movie time creeped closer, Matt started wringing his hands and shifting in his seat. We both took well planned bathroom breaks. In the couple minutes before, Matt actually began muttering, "Just start!" under his breath.

The next 2 hours and 20 minutes passed in splendid fashion. It was a truly great movie, and that's coming from someone who is still a comic book newbie.

The moral of the story is that my husband is cute. And summer is here! Bask! Enjoy!

The Finish Line

The end of the semester is so close that I can nearly taste it. I am stretching out my fingers so far toward the finish line that sometimes it seems as though time slows down around me. I take my final on Tuesday and in my spare moments have been dreaming of all that I want to do once that finish line is crossed.

I've got a list of books I want to read. 

I want to dominate our family photo album and Finn's baby book. 

I want to start studying for comps - the big test I have to take in the fall to complete my graduate program. 

And I want to start running. 

I have never been much of a runner; the few times I have tried have been pretty pathetic.  

When I was a freshman in high school, one of my favorite teachers was a coach for track. When he recruited me for the team, I joined because I felt honored and I wanted to please him. Plus, the sweats the teammates received were cute. 

I spent those months on the track team attending practices half-heartedly and sitting at meets, anxiously dreading the moment when it was my turn to run. I loathed waiting for the pistol to fire, signaling the start of the race. 

There are other times that I have tried to become a runner since then - each equally disastrous. 

Over and over again, I have heard of "the wall" in that exists with running. It's killer to reach it, but once you break through, there is relief, enjoyment, power. I never cared enough to push past that wall. Until now. 

There are a couple of reasons why the urge is surging in me. 

1. The next couple of semesters of schooling for me are going to be pretty intense. When I focus too much on those looming months, I feel overwhelmed. There are times when I am not sure if I can do it, if I can finish what I started 5 years ago. I am hypothesizing that if I can push myself physically in this way, it will help me see that I am capable of more than I think I am (and that's before I even factor in God's help). In short, I hope it can boost my confidence, prove something to myself about myself.

2. Finn's wake time is typically between 7:30 and 8 a.m. each morning. I figure that I can fairly easily discipline myself to get up at 7 each morning and get out for a run (Matt will still be home if he wakes up before I return). This will jump start our mornings; if I am lucky I can even squeeze my shower in before he wakes up. I see this as being immediately beneficial in providing more energy to our days. I see this as being long term beneficial as well, as once my schedule gets crazier in the fall, it won't be such a shock to my system.

There are my reasons. This blog is my accountability. Now I just have to do it. Eeeek. 

Mighty Mountains

I've been on two mountains in my entire life.

I heard a sermon recently that brought me back to both of them.

In the sermon, the pastor told a story about the Swiss Alps. Apparently, large groups of people can climb the Swiss Alps together. There is a chalet of sorts that meets them at the halfway point. The chalet is filled with all things comfortable: warmth, resting places, food and drink. The chalet is so stinkin' comfortable, that on average, about 25% of the group members choose not to proceed to the top of the Alps. They are satisfied with how far they have come, and the comfort has drawn them in and beckoned them to stay.

For awhile, they are content with their decision. But then, while they gaze through binoculars at their fellow group members who are high-fiving at the summit, regret begins to creep in. The realization hits that they have sacrificed their goal for a relatively cheap comfort.

As the group reunites and reaches their collective starting point, it is clear to see by the brightness of their countenance those who reached the summit and those who tarried by comfort's side.

The reason this story struck a chord with me is because it flat out convicted me.

Like I mentioned earlier, I have been on two mountains in my entire life.



The first one was Flat Top, located in Anchorage. Flat Top, true to its name, has a - wait for it - flat top. In the spring and summer months, once the snow has melted away, it is possible to hike all the way to the top without gear.





One day when my mom and stepdad had recently moved there and my brother and I were home for the summer, the four of us decided to "go on a little hike". Or so I thought.

It wasn't long into the "hike" when I realized - I was not cut out for that business. I muttered, I sputtered, I thought constantly of turning around. As we inched our way past tiny pathways and steep climbs, I agonized.

However, to those that I was with, turning around was not an option. They marched forward and by right of my own pride, I followed. It was one of the toughest things, physically, that I have ever done.







But when the four of us sat atop the summit and gazed victoriously over Anchorage, the sense of accomplishment was surreal. My legs might still have shaken the whole way back down and then been sore for days afterwards, but that couldn't take away from the fact that I had done it. I had done it when I literally thought over and over and over that there was no way I could.



The second mountain that I found myself on was Table Mountain in Cape Town, South Africa. Renowned for its beauty, Table Mountain offers one of the most beautiful views in the world. The higher up you go, the more rewarding the beauty you behold.

There was a whole crew of us visiting Table Mountain, enjoying a day of rest in the midst of a missions trip. You can get about halfway up Table Mountain by hiking or driving, but in order to get to the summit, you have to take a cable car. In order to take the cable car, you have to pay about $10.

Not really that steep of a cost to see such an amazing view.

However, on this particular day, I was tired. I was tired AND I felt poor. I was tired and I felt poor AND I had friends with me that also weren't really desiring to pay the price and take the ride.

About 5 of us opted out that day in order to head back to our hostel and unwind with a good book. At the time it felt like the right decision. But about the time I started seeing everyone else's photos of that day, the regret started to seep in. This is what I missed that day:

 

When I think back about the two mountains that I have been on, I look back on one with joy and a victorious feeling; I look back on the other with regret because I know that I took the easy and comfortable way out.

There are few guarantees in life, but it is almost certain that we will all face metaphorical mountains at various times.

I know I've faced a few.

Comparing my experiences on these two remarkable mountains and applying them to the metaphorical mountains, I see several real life applications.

1. When climbing a mountain - especially one you are unprepared for - it is detrimental to have others alongside you spurring you on. At times, they may need to simply encourage; at other times, they may have to inspire you by climbing themselves. At the worst times, they may need to literally push your butt up the mountain. They are essential to success. 

2. Don't allow a mediocre cost prevent you from a magnificent view. 

3. Comfort is a deceiving distraction from reaching the summit. Do not allow the allure of a cozy lodge or a good book at the hostel sway your goal to climb the mountain. Do the work and stay focused, because there are some regrets for which you won't get a second chance. 

Mountains - realistically and figuratively - are exhausting, gut-wrenching, and testing.

But I understand that the view is more than worth all that trouble.

Hotel Exploration

I am sitting in a hotel in Huron, SD, while my sweet boy naps and my husband attends meetings. Finn has loved exploring the hotel and Matt is really enjoying getting to know others through the A/G district.

And me? I am having fun too - although I am grossly disappointed at this hotel's lack of a continental breakfast. Isn't that just a "thing" that ALL hotels do these days? Sigh. I do love a good continental breakfast.

The room is dark as I sit here typing. I would turn on the tv but Finn needs his rest as he has been out of sorts and short on sleep the last day or so; I can't risk it! So I am left with my thoughts and my computer: a dangerous combo :).

As I mentioned before, Finn is on a mission to discover every nook and cranny of this hotel. As we have journeyed through this building the last 24 hours or so, we have had a couple of not so pretty moments as he has bravely tried to go where he is not allowed to go: conference rooms, a restaurant, other people's hotel rooms....

Heaven help me, my son is starting to throw tantrums when he gets diverted from his desired path.

Is it okay to admit that I don't always perfectly keep my cool when he does that? When he kicks and lays on the ground and cries out, I get embarrassed. When I get embarrassed, I get more easily frustrated with him.

In my head, I try to stay calm and on point. I try to teach in the moment - to get him behaving before we move away from the situation, to ignore the stranger stares and put the discipline of my son first.

But it is difficult! I get flustered so easily; sometimes I pick him up and shuffle him away in order to restore the peace for the strangers.

For me, I find that I handle these temperamental outbursts of his lightyears better if I am prepared for them. If I am really on top of things, I can often distract him away from the places he can't go before he even wants to go there. Earth shattering, I know.

I think the enormity of the problem comes when I get lazy or preoccupied (lost in thoughts, talking on the phone, texting). Because then I am underprepared and vulnerable to ambush, so to speak.

I tried this theory out later this afternoon and it definitely went better - I was not so easily flustered because I was armed: armed with preparation.

There were still a couple of minor incidences, but we glossed over those fairly easy peasey.

Does the crux of parenting truly lie in staying invested, even when tempted to check out - mentally, physically, emotionally?

So it would seem................so it would seem.

I really wish there was more to do in Huron.

Shoulds and Shouldnt's

This weekend, I willingly offered up nearly 3 hours of my precious time getting sucked into a movie on Netflix: "Lost in Austen". The premise of this movie is basically that a modern day Londoner (Londonite?) who is obsessed with "Pride and Prejudice" ends up swapping places with Elizabeth Bennett. While she tries to take control of the story in order to make sure that things end up as they should (Jane with Bingley, Charlotte with Collins, Lydia NOT with Wickham), she of course ends up falling in love with Darcy. This much is understandable to me. However, the 3 hours became irredeemable as the movie ended; this new lady and Darcy proclaimed their love and ultimately ended up together. Errr, what?!

As a touted romantic, there are just certain unalienable truths.

Noah belongs with Allie. 

Zack belongs with Kelly. 

Ross belongs with Rachel. 

Gilbert belongs with Anne. 

Darcy belongs with Elizabeth. 

Period. No erasees. 

Any attempts to modernize these truths and thereby change them result in me rolling my eyes in frustration. Some things are just meant to be. These things should just be.

Right?

I'm a big fan of should. I'm a rule follower. I color inside the lines. I never had a single detention, or even a warning.

I remember when I was living down in Arkansas, I met my sister and her boys at the mall with the little boy I nannied at the time. As we were trying to make our way to the second floor, Kiki suggested we use the nearby escalator instead of treading over a ways to the elevator. As she positioned her stroller filled with boys onto the escalator, I was getting ready to follow with my own stroller when I noticed a sign that said, "No strollers on the escalator". I hesitated and questioned Kiki about it. What if we got in trouble??? She rolled her eyes at me and I'm pretty sure she made fun of me. And then she continued on her way. So I sheepishly followed.

I feel like in my faith, "should" has been something that I have continued to wrestle with God. The longer that I live, the more I realize that the "shoulds" and "shouldn'ts"of life are an illusion - there to make us feel as though we have some sort of control in this crazy, unpredictable life.

Children shouldn't suffer from terminal illnesses.
Children should live longer than their parents.
There shouldn't be people starving in others countries.
We should always keep our patience while driving - even around Iowans.
I shouldn't get frustrated when my son tests his boundaries.
I should always be filled with belief and never feel anxious.

The examples go on and on. The only thing, really, that matters though is where we are led through all the shoulds and shouldn'ts. It is difficult to completely suspend our beliefs about certain matters. Shoulds and shouldn'ts will always exist somewhere in our minds.

But do we leave them there and grow bitter and anxious with everything that doesn't go the way we deem it needs to go?

Or do we surrender those very things, humbly admitting that we do not know all and that no matter what happens, we are cradled in God?

I think that sometimes our expectations, our shoulds and shouldn'ts, cause us to turn away from God and question what in the world He is doing. We reject what He is offering us in a given moment.

"Dare I ask what I think I deserve? A life of material comfort? A life free of all trials, all hardship, all suffering? A life with no discomfort, no inconveniences? Are there times that a sense of entitlement - expectations - is what inflates self, detonates anger, offends God, extinguishes joy? And what do I really deserve? Thankfully, God never gives what is deserved, but instead, God graciously, passionately offers gifts, our bodies, our time, our very lives.....proudly refusing to accept this moment, dismissing it as no gift at all, I refuse God. I reject God." - Ann Voskamp One Thousand Gifts

I was listening to a sermon today that discussed the crucifixion of Jesus. What stood out to me the most was the following:

"When Jesus Christ Himself said, "Come to me", God turned away from Him. In other words, Jesus got the abandonment we deserved. Jesus was calling for God and God turned His face away, so that when we say to God, "Turn Your face away', God will come. Because He experienced what we should have received, and therefore He can be understanding....." - Dr. Timothy Keller

That's the biggest "shouldn't" there ever was. Jesus dying for us, taking our punishment. We should have to pay the price of our own sin against God. Jesus shouldn't have to die for crimes he never committed. But because that "shouldn't" happened, we can trust God with the entirety of our lives - even that which doesn't make sense. Even when we reject and turn away, God comes.

If we can surrender the shoulds and shouldn'ts of life and trust in the strength of God's arms to hold us, the power of God's love to save us, and the sovereignty of God's knowledge to guide us, there is nothing to fear.

Pearl

Yesterday was a very important day for me - I had to see my inaugural client. Yes, I actually got to the point in my program where I get to counsel living, breathing people who are dealing with life.

I was so excited and nervous at the same time; I felt as though there was a load of responsibility on my shoulders, but at the same time it felt it belonged. It felt like the load that I had been expecting and hoping for the past few years as I have taken classes. It all felt right.

Before I left the house yesterday morning, I was trying to calm the butterflies fighting for attention in my belly. I happened to glance at my pearl ring and realized that it was just what I needed to help me.

My pearl ring is very special to me. I got it a couple of years ago for Christmas, and it was actually something that I had been wanting for awhile. I am not much of a jewelry adorner (except for my multitude of feather earrings :)) but I have always been drawn to pearl jewelry.

As cheesy as it sounds, it is because my name means "pearl".

Growing up, I always hated my name. I longed to be called by something cute and feminine - Nicki or Tiffany or Kelly Kapowski - something like that. There isn't a lot of room for cuteness or femininity in Gretchen.

But my mom had prayed for one more baby, a little girl that she could name Gretchen who would look cute in braids. She never even told my dad what they were naming me until after I was born - it was her little secret. Maybe she was afraid someone would try to talk her out of it? :)

I wore a lot of braids growing up.

I didn't really start to embrace my "Gretchen-osity" until I was in my early 20's. It was then that I really latched onto the meaning of my name. Pearl. That which starts as an irritant invading an oyster's shell, becomes a lovely pearl. At that time in my life, I was trying to define who I was and why I was. Embracing my name meaning was a part of that, as it made me feel that if I could learn to welcome the irritants of life, they would work me into something beautiful......eventually.

It was for that very reason that when we were looking at baby names, I was dead set on finding names that meant something. We decided on Finn not only because we love the name, but also because it means small, fair soldier. I remember that when we first saw his ultrasound picture and decided he would be Finn, Matt said, "David was a small soldier too!". Every time I would get anxious about his well-being in my ever-expanding belly, I would tell myself, "No! He is a soldier, a fighter; he is just fine!"

So anyway, I like pearls. When I see a pearl, it reminds me that I am still being made beautiful.

As I was gearing up for my client session, I would touch my pearl ring and remember who I am and that I am called to do this very thing: listen, help, encourage.

There's a certain peace that comes in knowing I am doing what I am meant to do.

O The Blood

Gosh, it feels like forever since I have written here. Two weeks ago was a crazy busy week trying to fit things in and get ready for Minneapolis and Dave Barnes. This past week we have all been sick, sick, sick and blogging has been near the bottom of my to-do list. And at the top? Keep breathing, take more meds, drink more water.

But I feel compelled to write today. I was driving home from church today and was listening to one of my favorite new worship songs: "O The Blood". I have been wanting Matt to do this song on a Sunday for a couple months now, and last week he finally obliged :). There is just something about this song, an anointing, that makes me cry almost every time that I hear it. So today, as I am shamelessly driving and sickly singing and ugly crying to this song, I began to wonder about how the lyrics might sound to someone who did not grow up in church.

After all, to those who aren't familiar with "church lingo" or know nothing of Christ's sacrifice, singing about blood(?) might seem a little.............strange.

O the blood, crimson love
Price of life's demand
Shameful sin, placed on Him
The hope of every man


O the blood of Jesus washes me
O the blood of Jesus shed for me
What a sacrifice, that saved my life
Yes the blood, it is my victory


Savior Son, Holy One
Slain so I can live 
See the Lamb, the Great I Am
Who takes away my sin


O the blood of the Lamb
O the blood of the Lamb
O the blood of the Lamb
The precious blood of the Lamb
What a sacrifice, that saved my life
Yes the blood, it is my victory


O what love, no greater love
Grace, how can it be
That in my sin, yes even then
He shed His blood for me

I talk a lot about God on this blog, because this blog represents my life and God is the center of my life. The characteristic I am most attracted to writing about God is His incredible love. To me, it is His most defining characteristic, the driving force behind everything else.

When I think about explaining the lyrics of this song to someone who did not grow up in church, I hope that what they would most sense would be God's abiding and infinite love. However, to be brutally honest, I don't have a lot of experience talking through my faith with those who aren't Christians. Since I rededicated my life to God when I was 14, I have dwelled in a large, comfy bubble of Christian family and friends. In high school, my best friends were my youth group and the Christian group at school. In college, a Christian university, the vast majority of my friends - except for a few, special friends I met while serving at Old Spag - were Christians. Arkansas? All friends I met while working with Chi Alpha, a Christian ministry. Alaska? All friends I met at church.

For that reason, I have never really had to share my faith. It was already shared. A couple of meager attempts that I made as a self-righteous teenager resulted in a wounded relationship with my brother and  feeling pretty puffed up about the whole situation. I wish I could take that back.

All of that to say, looking through those lyrics and singing them whole-heartedly, I know what they mean to me. I feel the aching love course through my bones with each word.

But how do I explain the blood? How do I share the meaning of the cross and sacrifice that Jesus made for us? How do I express the pull of my heart, the peace, the power, the love?

I don't know.

Maybe it will come in time. When it does, I pray that the self-righteousness of my high school years has been completely stripped away so that all that meets the person I am speaking with is the pure, unbridled love of God.

Until I can explain myself better, I guess this blog is the best source I have for expressing my faith.

More than anything, I just want people to know that God loves them. God loves them enough to send His Son to die in their place so that they could live with Him in heaven forever. Even in the utter depths of our human uglies, God loves us all enough to do whatever needed to bring us to Himself.

Maybe its best to keep it simple.