Just a thought

Life is much easier when we give it up.

just my simple thought.

It Mattered to Me

This semester I'm taking an Adolescent and Young Adult literature class and I'm LOVING it!! For my first assignment I had to

reminisce

and think about my transition from adolescence to adulthood. Or at least from my junior high years to high school. The writer in me came out. Enjoy.

It Mattered to Me: Defining my Adolescence

As a twelve year old girl, I was the Zebra with lime green stripes. It was as if I was born a part of my schoolmates’ herd but for some reason, I was given green stripes instead of white. I looked like the kids my age, as normal as any junior higher could be, and I talked like the kids my age, trying to act wiser beyond my years; but something kept me apart from them. I imagine it was the green stripes.

When I think about my transition from adolescence into adulthood, I cringe. Mainly because it was tough. Those stripes of mine, that difference, really defined me. But those different stripes were important to me. They mattered. From a young age my parents raised me in a church and my Christian faith was my heart. It distinctly set me on a different path then my peers; but it was a path that fashioned my adulthood. Because of my faith I have always looked at life a little differently then some of my peers and when I was an adolescent that difference had significance. I was the child who in fourth grade wrote an Easter essay saying what it really meant to me was about how Jesus was my friend. I did not look at Easter as finding colored eggs hidden in plastic grass, or as infinite supply of jelly beans. To me, it was about faith. A junior high girl just did not do things that differently in my school because if she did, then she was not labeled ‘cool.’ That was me, not cool.

As that junior high girl, new to the world of popularity, boys, and appearance, part of me wanted to give everything to fit it and be one of the girls who was “going out” with the captain of the basketball team. So I tried the best I knew how and that was to go out for every sport school offered and to quit being bookish. I tried cheerleading, volleyball, basketball, softball, and track and field. After all, anybody who was anybody played sports. Yet, none of those fit except track. This later turned out to be a defining point for me.

Yes, I loved playing sports but I didn’t come from a family with an important name so I did not get playing time. Instead, I sat the bench and watched while all the other girls got the glory and the guys. It affected me, my self-esteem a little but, but I knew in my faith that those things didn’t truly matter. It all related to Easter as a ten year old. After all that trial and error, I went back to what I was good at, just being me. That was accepting the things I did like, and that was school. Reading, writing, and learning was really who I was. I was the nerd. And even though it was tough to stand apart in junior high, I proudly admitted it and used it to the best of my ability by joining book club and scholastic bowl. That pursuit of knowledge was me. Different and me.

While junior high popularity was alive and kicking in the gym and on the field, youth group became the event of the week for me. I was having fun with my friends, playing crazy games, and soaking up the foundation of my faith. God became the one with the glory and I learned that as a Christian, the world was not always going to like me, but I was supposed to be different. Those lime green stripes were important after all. I grew in my faith and even though I ran with the book club and not the cheerleaders, I still ran. I turned to track because running was something that I did not have to do for others; I could do it for me and it was the strength I had in running that came from God. I ran in relays and worked on a team, but I knew I wasn’t running track just to be popular. I was running track because I loved it, because I had a strength inside.

I also learned that just because I did not date the guys on the basketball team, or because I was not a cheerleader, it didn’t make me any less cool. Popularity and the cool factor was something that went right out the door when people learned I was ‘the Christian.’ I was dubbed the good girl, but that did not define me. My faith did.

When I moved into high school I walked into a Serengeti of popularity and I really felt like my Zebra stripes stuck out. I waited for the lion to attack, but it never really came. I stuck with my faith and my running, my books, and my search for knowledge, and I let those things mold me into the adult I was becoming. Junior year I quite track to find a job and that is a decision that haunts me still today. It was a pivotal moment in my life because quitting was giving up a part of me that mattered. I stayed with book club, joined drama club, chess club, and worked on my academics, but running, though it wasn’t for the status of athlete and popularity, was something I had in my soul. It was somehow connected to my faith and I had lost it by quitting; all because I chose to move into adulthood by working. I had given up a childlike part of me.

Those lime green stripes were probably the best part of my transition from adolescence to adulthood because they gave me a reason to be different. Yes, I still looked like everybody else, but I could be my own person and let my passions create me. I was part of the mold, but I could make it my own and that is what I did. I made a few mistakes, but what girl doesn’t as she transitions? Luckily, when she becomes an adult, it isn’t always too late to find those things she lost. I found running again, not on a team, but in a way that it could still define me. I was a nerdy, faithful, running Zebra with lime green stripes in my adolescent years. I embraced every moment of it. Some days, I find those stripes still staring at the women in the mirror.

An unexpected splash of a fountain

So I'm past due. And no... that's not on having a baby. It's on a tradition that I've only been wanting to take part in since I've set foot upon my college campus. An act that spans many years within my group of friends, many many years to some, and one that has become a part of the Culture of my school. It's one of those rituals that if you're anywhere on campus soaking wet, everyone knows you been "through the fountain."
Friday night was a night spent enjoying the company of friends and fiddling my wits in the game of chess. Not to mention the all out rowdiness of Apples to Apples Bible Edition. Yes folks, the Fiery Furnace can be enjoyable. Needless to say, the thunderstorms of the evening added a certain ambiance to the atmosphere. After so many rounds of games, one where camels became delicious and plagues of frogs, well... silky, our brains started sloshing together adjectives and piling them with any noun that was available. A few of us filtered off to enjoy the rain.
I had been sitting there for what seemed like hours talking about life and all the upsets I was facing, droning on and on trying to figure out a way to get past them when I realized I was trying to do things on my own. I wasn't enjoying the silhouetted drops of rain. I started thinking back to my childhood and how at any given moment I would've busted down the doors to jump in a puddle or splash in the mud. At what point in life do we forget that? When does the rest of the world and our own minds become so loud that raindrops become silent and we can no longer hear the call of the puddles? That thought hit me at about the same time the constant drops turned to a downpour and I pulled off my shoes, let go of my annoying thoughts, and danced in the rain. From the moment the first drop hit to the time I was completely soaked (about thirty seconds) my thoughts, my upsets, my worries, were gone. By dancing in the rain I had let go of myself and let the rain wash over me. I yelled at God asking him what he was trying to tell me; He answered with another downpour. But with that downpour I understood peace. I understood that He will cover me when I ask, even if it is in the rain. I felt a tug to splash a little bit more, to find a little more, and so I wandered across campus to the fountain. It'd been two years and I still hadn't been in. I traipsed down there with my friends and like a bunch of silly little five year olds, we ran in and around that fountain splashing each other and washing away adulthood.
I still wonder when it is exactly that we lose the call of the rain, but I learned Friday night that it's something you can get back. You don't have to ignore that childlike heart that yearns, that begs you to dance in the rain sometimes. When I was kid, dancing in the rain, splashing in the flooded yard was my favorite activity. Why would I ever want to lose that?
Sometimes it's the rumble of thunder, the flashbulb of lightening, the tug of a friend, or the call of your heart that tells you to let go and do something. We shouldn't ignore those moments because sometimes, just always, those are the moments that flip a switch and change your life. It's not always controlled us forgetting how to dance in the rain... but it is our choice to learn how to again.

Rain Dance
Three years old
and it was one of those rain filled summer evenings.
Dark, damp, and cool was the night,
but the perfect summer rain was ever present.
The intense drops captured my eyes through the window
and I just wanted to play.


The absence of the rolling thunder
and the flashing lightening
made my fears diminish.
I was not scared of the rain-shower anymore.

It was Daddy's idea,
which I quickly agreed too.
We put on our tank tops
and bright floral shorts
and we were off.

Out to the backyard we ran.
With our arms outstretched and our mouth open wide.
We gladly welcomed the rain and let the water soak in.

Flash! went the camera
and the moment was captured forever.
I screamed like there was no tomorrow
afraid that the lightening had decided to show up.

But it was only the flashbulb,
paralyzing us in that moment forever.
It was a dance in the rain
and Dad was being a kid, just like me.

Peace

Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.
Romans 5:1-2

So, I was worried tonight until I came across this verse. It's amazing how so few words can carry so much, and can take so much of my heart when I need them too.
As most know, there's a certain military man in my life stationed in Iraq. And it worries the crap out of me. But I'm prouder then I can ever say of him being over there, sacrificing and serving. That means the world to me as an American, and as his girlfriend. I was reading the news tonight and came across an article about 5 U.S. Service men going down in a helicopter near the base that he's at. It's worried me beyond end. And I don't know how to deal with that worry sometimes because my overactive imagination gets carried away. It's hard feeling so connected to a person who is 20 million miles and wanting nothing more then to hear his voice even though I can't.
But I know that God closes that distance. I look at this verse and I say to myself, no matter what has happened, whether I hear from him tonight or tomorrow or a week down the road, I can rejoice in the hope of God because he closes the distance between us. He has given me a peace in my heart to know that no amount of time, distance, or worry can tear me from my faith nor from my love. God has become my peace through a strength I've only found in being far away. There's a beautiful song by Mercy Me out right now "Bring the Rain" that completely and utterly captures this feeling:

I can count a million times
People asking me how I
Can praise You with all that I've gone through
The question just amazes me
Can circumstances possibly
Change who I forever am in You
Maybe since my life was changed
Long before these rainy days
It's never really ever crossed my mind
To turn my back on you, oh Lord
My only shelter from the storm
But instead I draw closer through these times

So I pray Bring me joy, bring me peace Bring the chance to be free Bring me anything that brings You glory And I know there'll be days When this life brings me pain But if that's what it takes to praise You Jesus, bring the rain

I am Yours regardless of
The dark clouds that may loom above
Because You are much greater than my pain
You who made a way for me
By suffering Your destiny
So tell me what's a little rain

Holy, holy, holy Is the Lord God Almighty

So many times my friends, my family, they have asked me how do I deal with the distance and how I deal with this deployment and the only answer is God. There are dark clouds that loom above daily. There is worry, there is hurt, there is hating at being so far apart. At knowing he is in a dangerous place every moment. But those situations don't change the fact that I can still praise. If it's rain that causes my praise then I welcome it. I will dance in the drops if it means peace.
And it does. That is the beautiful thing. God gives me peace in the love that I have. Each day I could worry more and more at each breaking news story but instead, I know that I can stand in Him until my own hero returns. That each drop brought to me only makes me stronger, only makes my love grow. And that's how it's been these past six months. Finding peace in the love that I have inside of me. Knowing that love is stronger then anything on this earth and anything beyond it. Love for my God. Love becomes the peace I have inside of me because love is my strength. And nothing, not even a breaking news story can make that stumble.

Remembering the last....

Tonight marks my last night in the sunshine state. Hard to believe a wonderful summer is over and a new semester of school is marked. I have enjoyed every bit though. It's a wonderful feeling to grow up. Even if I wish the Peter Pan syndrome upon myself, I do enjoy growing up. It just means I'll always only be a kid at heart.

Here's to my road trip tomorrow and all the moments ahead. For now, all I hold is memories and I'm quite ready to create more.
Seize the Day.

History being made... and I was a part of it

Tonight I witnessed history.
It was the 150th NASA space mission and the first liftoff for Space Shuttle Endeavor in five years. I happened to be 14 miles away watching with my very own eyes.
I guess this happens to be one of the pluses of living in Florida for the summer. I didn't even realize the space shuttle was launching until yesterday when my Mother called me and mentioned the fact. (Which is weird that I didn't know because I'm always up to date and usually don't miss something big like this.) My Father had seen it on t.v. and suggested we go during Mom's trip down here. Now my Mother was all game. She hasn't missed one shuttle mission in her life, and she has been through the celebrations and tragedies of each mission; from Discovery, to Challenger, to Columbia, to Endeavor. Tonight was not only history for America, but one of those dreams of life come true for my mom. It was so cool to be a part of it.
I myself have always wanted to see a shuttle launch live too. Space, and it's vastness amaze me. It reminds me how big and powerful our creator is. I've always been fascinated by space and even in fourth grade I was able and lucky enough to do a huge study unit on space. I won't go into details but it did involve my own space mission with classes mates to the Moon and Mars. Let's just say, you can make one really cool space helmet with a milk jug and orange cellophane. I won't mention the space walk. Ok, so it was more like rolling around on the gym floor in front of our parents and classmates but I was in fourth grade and space was cool. I'm a nerd ok. I even wanted to go to space camp after that study.
Well, I won't lie, I still do. I thought about being an astronaut for a long time, and the thought made it's way back into my mind tonight. Sure, it'd take about fifteen more years of school and training, but space?? Every part of the training would be worth it. I decided to look up qualifications tonight and my dream was shattered. (Besides the fact that I'd need years of studying science and math.. .which I hate.) I kind of shrugged that off thinking I could push my way through it anyway. As long as I got to see stars. But, go figure there would be a height requirement of 64 inches, one I can't meet. I suppose that is God's way of telling me I can dream, I can enjoy and pursue life, but being an astronaut was never part of my own created plan. He has those certain plans and passions set apart for each of us. And each one is different. My hat is off to those that dream and conquer though. Like Barbara Morgan. What an amazing character. To pursue the dream Christa McAullife had and to be the first teacher in space. Those are the people who will be remembered. They and their dreams are the ones I will never forget. They are the ones that give us tiny nerds hope for our own lives.
I guess sometimes we all want to be remembered. It's part of our human wiring, and though I'll never be an astronaut and I may never be remembered for something grand myself, I remember that everything I still do counts for my future Kingdom. The astronaut inside me may never grow (no pun intended) but the Christian with her own dreams will, and great things like history keep me going for my own mission in life. And that one, is to simply live faithfully. All 61 3/4 inches of me.

Tour de Pain

HALLELUJAH!!!!
I finished!!! I finished!!!



I'm in serious pain right now, but I finished the Tour de Pain....3 races, 24 hours. It was AMAZING!!! (And I got a cool medal.)
I think it even hurts to type right now though. I can't believe I did it. We did it really. There were a few times when I had no strength so I just started praying. God's a runner. I'm telling you, it's biblical this running thing is. You just wait.

But for now, some rest.

ABOVE: 2nd race - 5k run at 7:30 in the morning on Saturday

BELOW: LEFT- 1st race - 4 mile beach run at 7:00 Friday night, RIGHT - 1 mile downtown run 7:00 Saturday night

A run, a race, and a footstep

Running. I guess that's my thing. Or, at least one of them. This is a snapshot of my life.
As far as I know I've always been a runner. Since I was a little twerp always running around the yard or in the store away from my parents. You'd catch me running from my brother in the house growing up through the years, and low and behold as a tiny blonde two year old running, tripping, and breaking my arm. (Not only am I a runner since birth, but a klutz as well.)

Junior high was really when I got my start in running. It was a new era for me and I wanted to try out everything. I started track with a little apprehension because honestly, who enjoys running? At least that was the thought in my head. But I tried it out anyway, and running turned out to be something I was good at. I was fast, I enjoyed it, and it was something in which I only depended on myself, my strength, and how hard I could push myself. There was one other fuel though, and that was my God. I remember race days like they were yesterday. The feel of crawling into the blocks, the anticipation in my muscles, the sound of the gun, and the feel of the wind as I pushed. I also remember that before every race, rather it was a lone one or a relay where I had teammates, I said a little prayer. It was never for a win (ok... so in my adolescent that's probably a lie. I'm sure I prayed for a win one, two, maybe a few times.) For the most part though, it was that I could make it. That I could run with the wind (or against it) and cross that finish line. I wanted to finish so bad. Yes, before the other girls would have been wonderful, but it was the thrill of knowing I, me, I could cross that finish line because of the strength inside of me. That strength was such an amazing feeling because I never threw it up after the race. Maybe felt a little dizzy and definitely felt like throwing up, but it never came. Because I held it all inside. That feeling was my power, my push, my strength to run. And it was exhilarating.
I quit track my junior year of high school for a job. I think it was probably the single most stupid mistake I've ever made. I'm not saying I would've gone on to be a star or a college athlete (though I would've loved too) but I just quite running. I racked up the medals and ribbons (most just participant ones) in the years prior and they were wonderful feelings of finishing, but somehow I let that feeling, that joy of running be overpowered by the world. The need for a job, for finances instead of letting my God push me in something that I could use to honor him. Sure, life went on and God shined in other areas, but I sometimes wondered just what could've happened had I not chosen to quit. I'm not a quitter and save for this one time, I won't ever do it again.
I decided to fix that problem. Resolve my quitting. Just this past year I finally picked up running again. Three and half years (never too late) and the feeling is back. One of my goals in life is to run a marathon and I figure I had to start somewhere so why not a half? I signed up with a bunch of friends and starting pushing myself again. Something had sparked in me and I found running once more. It was like, all along it had never left my soul because I would occasionally go out and run, or find a treadmill, but it was never the same. There was something deeper in side of me. Whispering, telling me to just go, just feel the wind, but I think I was just a little scared to pick it up. Tostart completely over. I knew that as a growing women I had lost my speed, but eventually it wasn't about that anymore. I never thought in my life I could run distance, heck, I hated, hated the mile warm-up before practice!. but I decided, I heard that that was what I was supposed to go for. I was supposed to go for the distance. Just running. Here I was training for 13.1 miles.
Through the strength of God I found those miles and completed my first half-marathon last May. It was an amazing 2 hours and 19 minutes. And the moment I crossed the finish line, well, let's just say it made up for the single most stupid mistake I ever made. It was as if God was speaking to me again saying, "Caitlin running is in your soul because I placed it there. Running parallels your life and if you keep running, keep 'going the distance' (like Rocky!) I'll bless you. It's hard to explain sometimes, and even now as I write, I can't fully place it but running is just one of those things where I know God exists. He is the strong tower of my legs, the breath of my lungs, the endurance of a mile, the strength in which I take a step, and the finish line to my race. He carries me when I run. He is the runner inside of me. And I know that anytime I am out there on the pavement, the sand, the trail, in the sun or rain, he is right beside me and in me running that same race. And that's why I run now; why I have the racing bug. Be it a simple 5K, or a bridge run, or even the Tour de Pain (3 races, 24 hours) that I'm doing on a whim tomorrow, I still race. It isn't about the free t-shirt, or the medals any more (though those are very nice reminders of what I finished) it's about the perseverance and it's about winning. I'm sure if I pushed my self harder in my training I could top out, place a few times but to me, running is about running. It's about just taking the step.
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart."
-Hebrews 12:1-3

And I challenge anyone who says they can't run, to take a step with me. Because taking a step with me is being carried by God.

When I qualify and finish the Boston Marathon in my life, I'm tattooing this verse id on my calf.

Sanctity in Refuge

I sit here in the rain tonight wondering why I have let my writing nonchalantly disappear piece by piece this summer. It's 1 August 2007, hard to believe the day was today and I'm only a few short steps away to starting the next half of my college life, and my writing, as well the adventure I had in pursuit this summer, well, it falls under the category of 'empty.'
For most who read this, they'll probably be the avid readers of some of the writing I've done (I'm no author yet... just a measly, starving, simple writer) and you'll understand that this whole blog thing is new to me. I've never been an avid diary writer or journal keeper, but I do have a certain lime green notebook that I have somehow managed to keep a hold of the past six months and occasionally jot an idea down in, even a poem or two, and low and behold, possibly the start to a beautiful novel. Needless, I think this beautiful blog thing might just be the refuge I am looking for. I'm not sure what words will end up pouring out of my fingertips into the bright abyss of my computer screen, but I feel already, that they will.
As I've said, I'm no author, but I write big. I write that my words will touch the soul of just one person; a deep enough touch that I can keep writing because my beautiful Creator chooses to speak through me. It's as a poet speaks through words that I long to speak beauty, hope, peace, faith, and love. And in these things may we all find sanctity.
I heard today on a radio spot something about joyful hope and it spurred a movement in me. I've talked with several friends about this before, and listened to many sermons on the hope we are to have in our creator. But how many times is the word joyful put in front of it? Life, like my writing and adventure, sometimes feels like the needle is always pointing to empty; but how many times have you run out of gas (without realizing it) and just laughed at yourself for forgetting to fill up? (I almost did today.) It's in that laughter where we find joy... and that joy should be placed above all us. God tells us that no matter the situation or whether life feels like it's on pause, or pointing to empty, that he has our back. He's the one giving us hope and a future. (Jer. 29:11) So you see, we have the hope placed before us and all we have to do is joyfully live for it. A joyful hope. Can you imagine a world full of that? What if one person lived everything in joyful hope, even when she stepped out of bed in the morning with a massive migraine and a full plate, she just smiled and said, today is a day of joyful hope? She would find sanctity. She would find refuge in the God who would guide her. She would be the white steel chair, firmly, yet beautifully placed on the sands of the sea. And her joyful hope would spread to another, and maybe another, and maybe, just maybe across that sea to another place and time. If we have joyful hope, we hold the sea in our hand. And if we hold the sea in our hand... then the waves will always be constant. Our God is big like that. And beautiful.

I'm sure my writing won't always be deep and poetic, and ambiguous like this... and I'm sure as the days go by I'll even write about my life and who I am. But for now, I write the words that flow.

To my God and to my love....
Always