Dad

In a haze I boarded the plane to Texas, having purchased my ticket the night before at a special bereavement rate. I was trying to submerge the thought that it will be the last time I ever talk with my Dad.

Making my way through the airport, I felt marked, as if 'my Dad is dying' could somehow be readily obvious to strangers around me. But it wasn't. "How are you today?" "Fine, thank you." "My dad is dying and I'm traveling to talk to him for the last time" was stuck in my throat like a secret, for fear that admitting it aloud to airport personnel would rupture a swelling ache. And yet I wanted to scream it to relieve the building pressure. For those who inquired, I replied that the trip was to visit family. To keep my wits, that is what I kept telling myself too.

On the drive 'over the river and through the woods to (my children's) grandmother's house' in Kerrville, I had mixed feelings: excited to see Mom and my step-brother Dan, anxious to meet Kayetta (the step-sister I'd never met), and dreading seeing my Dad in the hospital bed delivered just days prior by hospice. The nurse had then conveyed to me over the phone that I'd better come quickly if I intended to talk with him while he was still able. Mom greeted me at the door with a hug and tears in her eyes.

He looked so gaunt. His eyes were already sunken and his lids droopy, his lips dry and his voice faint. He greeted me with a tiny smile (all he could possibly muster) and "Hello, daughter." Looking back, I wonder what crazy preparations my mom did to ensure he was awake and alert to greet me.

Throughout my life, he has always been a strong and muscular figure: a skier, even a pilot, a construction worker with a hard work ethic, and a manager and consultant. Working alongside my mother, his strong hands built the home in which he will ultimately die. It was hard for me to see him weak, shrunken and bony. I remember a time when he would swallow me whole in a too-tight bear hug, and now if I were to hug him, I fear he might snap. I caught him sleeping with his jaw agape and his body so still I had to watch his chest to ensure it continued rising and falling.

During my visit, I did enjoy running under Texas blue skies, meeting Kayetta and seeing Dan (they both have his blue eyes). We were blessed to pray with Pastor Joe (their approachable yet sharp country preacher), their small group, and my in-laws who made a special trip to see him and support us. It was my first and last gathering of the entire Robert family.

Dad's final days are being punctuated with the careful yet loving fidgeting of my mother, gentle banter with family, friends, and neighbors, and dosing of his Parkinson's meds, pain meds, and an anxiolytic which all leave him intermittently fuzzy. During his lucid times, he'd recall happy memories or give advice about life or things to do after his departure. (Don't forget to fill the propane tank, make your IRA withdrawal.) When fuzzy, he'd simply stare into space, or ponder aloud his past wrongs and the hope of Heaven. I shared with him the story I'd heard at the A&M Church about the rooms God prepares for us in Heaven, and how there MUST be a '12th Gate' in Heaven where we Aggies (home of the 12th Man tradition) will rendezvous.

Occasionally he'd let slip a pearl of truth buried in the haze of his dehydrated drugged fog. But he always recognized me, except once on the day I left him in the capable hands of my my mom, when he called me his Doctor Wife. The margins of his confusion were wispy; even amidst his perseveration, when asked he accurately described the location of his safe deposit box key (after Mom's exhaustive yet unsuccessful search). Looking back, I'm not totally sure which conversations were lucid and which were fuzzy, or maybe they somehow coexisted. Nonetheless, I will treasure this pearl: "I love my children. You will go on. I am ready to go. There is nothing more I can teach you. Fabulous daughter. I love you, daughter."

As we parted, I hugged his stiffened frame and said to him: "I love you. This will be the last time we talk. I'll meet up with you again the other side of Heaven. I'm gonna miss you. Say hi to my Camille for me. We can meet at the 12th gate."

The last thing he said to me: "I love you. I hope it is not that far."

And I to him: "I love you. Bye, Dad."

As the plane pointed north on its ascent over San Antonio tonight, I looked into the western sky toward Kerrville, which was painted flame-red in the beautiful sunset, trying to hold back tears for the sake of neighboring passengers. The sun has set on my time with him, just as it is setting on his life on this earth.

Dad, I hope it is not that far either.

 

Hemorrhage

Have you ever had one of those nosebleeds? Not the kind where you happen to catch some red with a routine blow, but a truly epic nosebleed? The ones when you finally give up blowing and instead fashion a nasal tamponade from toilet paper to act as a finger in the dike? The choking kind, the kind with after-shocks that quake for days?

Sadly, I am one of the afflicted. I can vouch that it is difficut to breathe with both nostrils stoppered. I keep Kleenex in the car, in my purse, in the office. I have been awakened in the middle of the night to the taste of blood, which I know all too well. I can also attest to the unpleasant sensation experienced by the nefarious meeting of styptic hemostatic pencil and mucous membranes.

Somehow it seems funnier when I relate it to a comedy sketch from the show The Kids in The Hall, circa 1989. In one episode, kids visit a freak show featuring a Chicken Lady (which you may, but hopefully, don't remember) and one off-attraction: the Man Whose Nose Bleeds at Will. The sketch was funny at the time (I was 17). Even less appropriate (but far more comical) is Randy, a character whose nose bleeds like a faucet in one infamous episode of How I Met Your Mother. (Warning YouTubers: content is questionable at best.)

I'm thankful that I've never been subjected to a terribly public nosebleed, nor a nosebleed (like Randy) on a first date, nor have I been put on display at the circus. Not yet.

My daily nosebleeds are not typically strenuous-- I can usually get them to stop within 5-10 minutes. But every couple weeks, I get a real doozy: the kind where I could waste a roll of TP, but instead have learned it is best to simply lean over the sink for 10-20 minutes, all the time praying my kids don't pop in and see all that red and think that I am bleeding to death. When you think about it, there is a strange beauty about blood. Although it is a taboo subject and often associated with trauma and death, it is truly essential to life. Anemic, we wilt. Excess, and we clot. One tiny chemical mistake in the complexity of the clotting cascade can cause exanguination.

Although I am inconvenienced by the occasional 'epic nosebleed', more than anything I hate to see all that life-blood wasted. Down the drain, literally. I don't know why I feel a loss-- it is not like I poured my sweat and tears into manufacturing that blood. Maybe the minor bloodletting is somehow to blame for my constant chills, my oft-lightheadedness, my slow running pace, or poor endurance on a hike? Maybe someone else could make better use of that blood vs. my plumbing? (Folks with frequent nosebleeds are not the best candidates for donating blood, I'm told.)

Now don't freak out: I had my blood count and platelets checked. I do not have some horrible disease like idiopathic thrombocytopenia purpura or leukemia. I just live in a rather dry climate and have nasal veins in close surface proximity, primed for launch. I should admittedly see the ENT doc and submit to coagulation to burn those veins beyond all recognition. Or maybe I should move to Seattle.

But for now, I will continue to disinfect my sinks and hands daily. It does make me ponder. (I freely recognize it is a leap to wax philosophical amidst a blog on nosebleeds, but that is the jump I am going to make, so grab my prose like an outstretched hand and climb alongside...)

How many gifts have we been given, intended to sustain and even enrich our lives, which go unwanted, unrecognized, or unused? Are we teeming with potential that lies untapped or even wasted? How many opportunities have we let slip through our fingers and down the drain?

What talents and passions are yet to be discovered, or even denied for fear of the taboo, unspeakable, unfamiliar, uncomfortable, intimidating, or difficult? What have you discounted as 'out of the realm of possibility'?

Whatever it is, when it pours out of us, I pray that it pours life into others.

 

Lessons from western Nebraska part 1: Sculpt

What exactly have I learned from Nebraska, other than the actual existence of tumbleweeds as big as cars, hurricane-force winds sans the hurricane, and that Huskers are just as fanatical as Aggies?

Yup, a car-sized tumbleweed.

Western Nebraska has changed me for the better in many ways.  It has allowed me to shake free from the indoctrination of my upbringing. It has helped me let go of old habits, mindsets, and opinions.  When I look back on the lessons learned over the past 10 years, and the ways in which I have grown and changed, I see the positive impact of this community and its people on my life.  Let me elaborate:

1.  Western Nebraska reacquainted Jon and I with the concept of 'neighbor'.  Coming from San Antonio, we were accustomed to anonymity.  When we moved into our home on Spruce Drive, we were welcomed with visits and baked gifts from our neighbors.  Although we've seen many of them come and go over the past 10 years, we know them all by name (entirely different from our experience in San Antonio).  I know the names of the staff at many of the local businesses and restaurants we frequent, but even when I don't, we recognize and acknowledge one another.  (Recent discovery: drive-thru staff at Scottsbluff's Jax Gourmet Coffee & Snow know me only as 'Medium Chai in the Mini Cooper'.)  I've observed Jon select a checkout line at Walmart not based on the length of the queue but on who is cashiering; his focus is to provide a word of encouragement.  Cultivating love and moving from 'no one matters' to 'everyone matters' is a slow cultural shift we are still working on, but many of the seeds were planted here in Scottsbluff-Gering.

2.  My perspective on death (and therefore my perspective on life) has changed.  The stillbirth of our daughter Camille in 2005 rocked our world.  Its true impact may be best understood only by those closest to us.  When Hurricane Katrina struck Louisiana a month later, observers distant to the storm felt sorrowful sympathy, but victims who weathered the eye of devastation were united by a unique bond.  And so it is with our core friends and small group who provided support at the epicenter of our loss.  As our family leaves here we take only memories of that time, unrecognized by new acquaintances and friends.  The grief and support shown by our fellow Nebraskans will always stand as a witness to the scars that remain.  For that, I thank you.

The loss itself taught me two vital lessons: (1) death has a place, and (2) fear nothing.  I can truthfully say that I have little fear of my own departure, even prematurely.  I have loosened my grip on my expectations for this life, and I accept that I do not determine my future, nor the future of my loved ones.  Kissing the fear of death goodbye has been very liberating, since there is little else to fear.  AWOLNATION says it well:

Well I met an old man dying on a train.
No more destination, no more pain.
Well he said, "one thing, before I graduate...
never let your fear decide your fate."
I say, "fly, fly, baby. Don't cry, no need to worry 'cause
Everybody will die.
Everyday we just go, go. Baby you'll go.
Don't you worry, He loves you more than you know."
(Or at least that's the way I hear it.)

With the fear of death eliminated, why would there be fear of something as small as judgment or marginalization or unknown or risk?  Without fear, I can hike a mountain, travel great distances, challenge the status quo, blaze a trail, tackle a seemingly insurmountable task, and speak without constraint.  I can align my life's priorities more closely to my values and my faith, even when it stands in resolute defiance to the expectations of others.

Fearlessness has taught me trust.  Fear has a tendency to breed worry.  Without fear or worry, I've learned to trust in God and His plan for me.  One of our family's current favorites is this Swedish House Mafia song:

My Father said,
'Don't you worry, don't you worry, child.
See, Heaven's got a plan for you.
Don't you worry, don't you worry now.'

(As an aside, our family thinks it sounds an awful lot like 'Seattle's got a plan for you.'  Judge for yourself here.  Click at your own risk; you'll never hear it the same again.)

Fearlessness has taught another lesson: vulnerability.  Although not intuitively related, vulnerability has grown out of the lack of fear of putting my genuine self on display.  I've expressed the deepest sorrows of loss from a public forum. I've shed mutual tears with patients upon my delivery of bad news.  In spearheading our electronic medical record at work, I have attempted to champion one of the most disruptive yet revolutionary changes in the history of Medicine, and in doing so, have become the target of resistance (and likely criticism).  Vulnerability is not a highly-praised virtue among physicians and although it does not come naturally to me, I've always perceived Scottsbluff to be a place where my flaws are forgiven, and my personal best is an acceptable alternative to perfection.

3.  I developed endurance and perseverence while in Nebraska.  Although I'd run a handful of 5K races in Texas, it was during my time in Scottsbluff that I truly became a runner.  I will refrain from waxing philosophical about running, as I've already done so in my Run post.  Suffice it to say that being a runner has profoundly changed my perspectives on pain, aging, goals, solitude, and time.  Without the encouragement of equally fitness-minded friends, I doubt I would have ever bothered.

That same perseverance has been put to the test in another arena.  It was two months after Camille's stillbirth when Jon and I summited Mt. Harvard, our first Colorado 14er peak, spurred along by fellow WestWay hikers.  (The occasional forty-five minute excursion around San Antonio's Friedrich Wilderness Park was my only prerequisite contribution to hiking.)  Since then, a love of hiking has grown into a passion for mountaineering (which some would probably call an obsession).  Nineteen peaks later, my soul is still refreshed every time with the glory of His creation.  Nonetheless, I've yet to hike a 14er without encountering mental self-doubt at some point between the trailhead and summit.  And yet, He gives me strength and endurance not only for the summit but also for the long descent back.  During one winter hike, He gave our party the wisdom to turn back from a potential whiteout situation.  Having summited on my second attempt, I finally broke down into silent tears of thanks during the descent below timberline as a quiet snow fell gently around me.  I've learned on those mountain paths and running trails to listen for the quiet still voice of God.  Funny that for me, hearing His voice has very little to do with being physically still.

A snow banner off Quandary Peak

Then there are the more 'temporal' lessons:

4.  Nebraska's void of Tex-Mex served to break a decade of food cravings and the bad habits that often accompany them.  Like forced fasting.  I am leaving 20 unwanted pounds here.

5.  And yet, Nebraska surprisingly broadened my culinary horizon.  Ironically, I (finally!) learned to like fish in a landlocked state. In the land of corn-fed angus, I learned not only to eat vegetables, but to like them, and to not berate, but appreciate a good vegetarian meal.  While in Nebraska, I became acquainted with chai tea lattes and Starbucks. Back when we had a Starbucks...

6.  Our garden plot at WestWay reaped the double harvest of homegrown veggies and an appreciation of not only gardening and things organic, but the work involved to produce a harvest.  Sophomoric as it may seem, gardening has taught me lessons applicable not just to my diet, but to my spiritual walk.

7.  It is remarkable that in a red state like Nebraska, I've learned moderation, become less polarized, and more politically tolerant.  I do a better job of listening to and considering both sides of issues, and I acknowledge that Jesus would not depend on something as small as government.

8.  In Western Nebraska I've also learned to be more perseverant and tolerant of weather.  Running and mountaineering would be difficult sports for the weatherphobic.  I've run and hiked in wind, fog, snow, dark, rain, ice, sleet, subzero cold, drought, and yes, hail.  Maybe this is a strange thing to praise, but it is a locally-learned skill that will come in handy, since we are headed to Seattle, the home of misty drizzle (so-called mizzle) for months on end.

In fact, that is what seems so rich about our Western Nebraska experience: we have been molded with seemingly Divine intent.  He has been sculpting our family for such a place as Seattle.  I would never have dreamed of the chance to summit the heavily-glaciered Mt. Rainier without the training ground that the Colorado 14ers have afforded me.  Similarly, all my other life experiences in Nebraska have been the training ground for the next leg of the race in Seattle.  Without Scottsbluff, I doubt I would be prepared for Seattle's political culture, social tolerances, disdain for tradition, or their fitness mindset, less-than-conservative churches, organic bent, seafood cuisine, or even their weather.  God knows our past, present, and future.  He placed us in western Nebraska with great purpose.

 Sculpture from the Chihuly Garden and Glass exhibit, Seattle

There is a scene in the movie Forrest Gump when the lead character reflects on the profound things he's learned from seemingly simple experiences in his life.  The movie depicts a series of brief clips,  like recalled memories, revisiting poignant moments and we realize how pivotal and integral they were. (Watch it here.)

I think my heart is often like a movie player; I replay snipits from moments of significance.  So many of these moments are encounters with the very Spirit of God.  I will remember my time in Scottsbluff as a place where I became reacquainted with the awesome presence of God.

-----

Many of my integral moments are encounters with the conduits of His love, His people.  But the blog is long, so I shall continue that thought in another installment.  Stay tuned for part 2...

Love song

People break down into two groups. When they experience something lucky, group number one sees it as more than luck, more than coincidence. They see it as a sign, evidence, that there is someone up there, watching out for them. Group number two sees it as just pure luck. Just a happy turn of chance. But there's a whole lot of people in group number one. They're looking for a miracle. And deep down, they feel that whatever's going to happen, there will be someone there to help them. And that fills them with hope.

See what you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, that sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Or, look at the question this way: Is it possible that there are no coincidences?

-- Rev. Graham Hess (Mel Gibson) Signs, 2002

Seattle was never on our radar.

Yet, God is always moving, and this time He's called us to do the same.  In 6 short months, my family and I will be moving to Seattle. People ask me why, and I struggle to explain.  I am taking a 30-40% pay cut.   My commute will be longer.  I'll be working harder.  Cost of living increases 150%, and real estate almost 200%.

Looking back, Scottsbluff was never on our radar 9 1/2 years ago.  We truly believe God led us here, and for a purpose.  We trusted Him when real estate went up 200% then.   And now?

I'd been reading the job postings for years, looking for the 'ideal' job.  I encountered ads for jobs in Virginia, Texas, California, Seattle, Iowa, Michigan, many others.  In the hopes of fulfilling my dream to move into the shadow of the beloved Rocky Mountains, I interviewed for a position in Lone Tree, Colorado last Spring.  The salary was lucrative, and the group was ready for me to sign on the dotted line before I left.  Great location, but the job would be chock full of patients with pain due to personal injury and workers compensation cases (complicated by secondary gain, paperwork, manipulation).  No, thank you.

Funny: after that, Colorado never again came calling.  Even my fallback option fell through-- never got a return call from my one 'guaranteed' lead in Colorado, despite multiple attempts.  Meanwhile, I discovered that a former colleague had relocated to a PM&R job in Denver.  I felt rather defeated.

Months ago in the wake of this, I journaled the excerpt below (forgive the melodrama-- it is my journal, after all):

Goodbye love song for Colorado

I've been having an affair for a long time. I have a good home, but my heart hasn't been there for some time. I am not speaking of unfaithfulness to my family or my spouse, but my state. I have denied my Nebraska in search of a deeper love. Colorado resonates with me: mountains, alpine lakes, churches, neighborhoods, pace of life, and even traffic. But alas, this is a love that is unrequited. As much as I love Colorado, and as much as God shows me His love for me through the beauty He has created in Colorado, I have given up the hope of ever making the move. I have been waiting for God to lay out the red carpet and welcome me, but no invitation has come. All my leads led nowhere. I've watched others who love Colorado less take hold of that which should be mine.

What I struggle to understand is how God could place in me such strong passion, a pull not toward sin or self, but toward something good, the work of His hands; into a strong congregation with potential to grow me as a Christian, and toward a culture that reinforces a healthier lifestyle, and then deny me that.

Is my pinnacle too small for God? Does he have something bigger planned for me? Because I feel something stirring. Change is coming.

After reading an ad for a position with an Orthopedic group in the Dallas/Fort Worth area and speaking with their director and several physicians, I was offered an October interview.

Meanwhile over Labor Day weekend, our family travelled back to Colorado.  My appetite for mountaineering was strong, despite having recently been fed with a glorious trip to the summit of Mt. Sherman with my Westway family in August.  Though I'd never been there, the Great Sand Dunes National Park and Sangre de Cristo mountains welcomed me home.  I labored up the Lake Como road to summit Ellingwood and Blanca peaks, which exhausted my body but refreshed my spirit.  It is hard for me to describe such a strange love; I can count on one hand the friends who understand this.  We chose to lodge for the long weekend at the Zapata Ranch, a working bison ranch.  We ate with a dozen other guests in the common dining room for breakfast, parted ways during the day for our hiking, ranching, branding, and sand-surfing endeavors, then regrouped for supper to recount our day's adventures.  We were surprised one evening to find ourselves seated next to a retired couple who lived 30 years in Seattle.  Instead of listening to tales of their day in the saddle herding buffalo, they blissfully framed a picture of Seattle as we listened intently.

Upon returning home, I emailed the group in Seattle to follow up on the posted ad.  Within days, I'd made contact with the recruiter and spoken at length by phone with the Medical Director, who described his vision for the department: a vision of quality outcomes, best practice protocols, and care excellence.  This mindset is well-suited to weather the coming changes in health care reimbursement.  It synced with me.

I cancelled the October interview in Dallas/Fort Worth, and instead scheduled an on-site interview in Seattle. Worst case scenario: we'd get to spend a long weekend in the Pacific Northwest as a family, on someone else's dime.

After our family enjoyed a short vacation at DisneyWorld in late September, I stuck around a few extra days to attend the AANEM conference in Orlando.  Alone on the plane from Orlando back to Denver, I spent some time blogging about the Monument Marathon, then struck up a conversation with my neighbor in 8E.  After getting through the pleasantries, she revealed that she works as a Neurologist.  In Seattle.  I unabashedly pressed her for information, and she willingly shared.

A month later, the interview went well; better than expected.  They are not needle-jockies like the Lone Tree group. They have financial sustainability and security.  They are willing to let me sculpt and build my practice, and offered me a leadership role.  The offer came quickly, and it was fair.

Back in Scottsbluff, Seattle trickled its way into our day-to-day lives.  I have lost count of the number of times I've been nudged.  In fact, 'It's NOT a sign!' became a running joke in our home when these instances arose, such as the time Brielle came home from school bewildered that Seattle showed up in her schoolwork.  When in San Francisco for business, I was browsing Chinatown with work colleagues when we stumbled across a rack of touristy personalized keychains.  One of my fellow VPs stopped long enough to confirm that 'Michele' was not among them (there were plenty of 'Michelle'), and flippantly mentioned "Maybe if you find one with your name spelled correctly, you could take that as a sign to move out here to the West Coast!"  In my heart, I thought back to our community tour in Seattle the week prior, where my sweet Autumn had pointed out a storefront sign that read 'Michele'.

Which is the right choice? Is there a right choice?  I trust that God gives us freedom to choose from among a number of opportunities.  Our future is not predestined since the choice is ours, yet He knows the path we will choose to walk, even before we choose it.  "Well then, Father God, feel free to clue me in. Let me hear your voice clearly,"  I prayed.  Jon prayed.  The kids prayed.  Jon and I fasted.  We asked for ears to hear the will of God. "I will go where you want me to go."  And this time I prayed it without the tether of "but please let it be Colorado".  And He spoke.  Over and over.  In a voice that only our family heard.  We could not deny: it WAS a sign.  A sign with my name on it.  They all were.


This fall, I stumbled upon a song with Autumn's name in it.  For the sake of fair parenting, I felt obliged to scour iTunes for a song with Brielle's name (clearly a greater challenge than the elusive 'Michele' keychain).  But there it was: 'Brielle' by Sky Sailing.  Further investgation showed this to be the former one-man band of Adam Young, the gifted musician who now comprises Owl City.  There in the discography was his song 'Hello Seattle':

Hello Seattle, I am a mountaineer,

in the hills and highlands.

I fall asleep in hospital parking lots.

Take me above your light.

Carry me through the night.

Hold me secure in flight.

Sing me to sleep tonight.

I would later read this interview about the song:

"Seattle always seemed like the other side of the world to me. I remember staring out the window during class in high school imagining what it was like," Young said. "The irony of the track is that it's a love song to a place I'd never visited."

Researching Washington, I discovered that, although I will say goodbye to Colorado and the Rockies, I am not saying goodbye to the majestic works of His creation, and I am not abandoning that love which seems to thrive so fiercely within me.  Online photos and Scottsbluff eyewitnesses reassure me of the beauty of the Pacific Northwest, abundant in rich green forests, flowing rivers, mirrored lakes, and yes, mountains.  There are innumerable ranges including the nearby Olympics and Cascades, and Mount Rainier towers as the taller of two Washington 14ers.

And so begins my love song to a place I'd never visited.  Hello, Seattle.



Next post: Love song for Scottsbluff

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Goat

I would like to introduce you to Peeka. (Not, Peeta, you Hunger Games fanatic.) Peeka is a beloved pet goat belonging to Dena Jones. Dena, who is an entrepreneurial veterinary technician, works as a professional pet-sitter. With the help of her husband Sam, Dena owns and operates the wildly successful business, Happy at Home Pets. (They are fantastic and affordable and you can find them here: http://www.happyathomepets.biz)

Dena is infused with the love of animals, and she houses a veritable zoo of animal-friends at her home. She rescues strays, nurses the injured back to health, and builds shelters for the untamed. When she is not at home, she is visiting and caring for the animal friends of others (refer to shameless plug, above). Her Facebook posts are filled with pictures and stories of her pets and rescues, but my favorite stories are the ones that involve Peeka the goat.

Peeka has a mischievous spirit, which I suspect is typical of a goat. When Dena and Sam are working on projects around the house, Peeka gets in the way. Peeka can often be found sitting or standing atop Dena's car. In fact, Dena and Sam finally stopped popping the dents out, as it was weakening the metal.

Dena has several running Facebook posts about 'Peeka antics'. Here are a few:

 

 

Honestly, I think many of us can relate to Peeka. Do you ever feel like a misfit? A troublemaker? Do you feel you're just in the way, not one of the herd?

Who would keep such a misfit of a pet? Funny thing is that Peeka the goat has a priceless and rare gift. Peeka is an ambassador. She is able to tame the wild. Many of the feral cats Dena encounters require medical attention, but they are unapproachable and afraid of people. Peeka somehow befriends the wild cats on Dena's property, and slowly over time Dena is also able to approach them and provide the aid they need. Seriously, what are the chances that a savior of wild animals would happen to have an animal-ambassador? It seems well-purposed.

As Christians, our job is to befriend the wild ones of the earth and ease the approach to their Savior who is feared, but who also loves them and knows what they need.

I have previously blogged about my so-called 'spiritual gift': I have the gift of looking for and seeing the Divine in the secular. I embrace the redemption songs of Linkin Park, and welcome the fellowship and self-sacrifice shown in the Harry Potter series. I have experienced the discipline and brokenness of a long run. The Church frowns on the distorted truths depicted in the media; they are not Biblical. However, there are nuggets of resonant Truth therein, and if Truth is truly absolute, then it can be found outside our walls and our scriptures. (Granted, we must hold up the truths against what we know to be Truth from scripture.  Contrarily, we discount the Holy Spirit that works within us when we limit Truth to that found only in scripture.)

I see value in using Truth to reach the lost. To many, the Bible may seem mysterious or distant, but they can relate to the Truth they see sprinkled everywhere around them. An ambassador can discern Truth from falsehood and help make a way. Like a goat who leads a wild cat to safety.

I always felt goats got a bad rap in the Bible. The sheep are clearly the chosen flock of God, with Jesus as our great Shepherd. Even today, goats are often depicted as a pagan deity, accursed in popular movies. Then there is the passage in Matthew “He will place the sheep at his right hand and the goats at his left...then the King will turn to those on the left and say, ‘Away with you, you cursed ones, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his demons." (Matthew 25 NLT)

I left out a crucial part of the passage: “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the creation of the world. For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home. I was naked, and you gave me clothing. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you visited me.’ (Matthew 25:34-36 NLT)

There are times I feel like the goat, and not the sheep. Like Peeka, I can be exasperating and frustrating to others, and occasionally downright destructive. But God has given me this so-called 'gift', and I will use it to reach out and ambassador to others.

Maybe whether I am a goat or a sheep doesn't really matter. Am I an ambassador and servant of God?  And although the world (and sometimes even the Church) may see me as a goat, through His eyes, I'm a cherished lamb of His herd.

Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. (1 Corinthians 1:26-29 NIV)

So we are Christ’s ambassadors; God is making his appeal through us. We speak for Christ when we plead, “Come back to God!” (2 Corinthians 5:20 NLT)

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Siri Parenting

I have come to the conclusion that most of my parental instructions could be replaced by a digital version of me, programmed to say the same phrases over and over. Here are some examples of my so-called 'Siri Parenting' (disclaimer: may contain exaggerated or frankly nonfactual information):

1. "Less chatting; more chewing." (At mealtime)

2. "You talk too much." (Any other time)

3. "Clean your room. No, you may not play with the 'new' things you find."

4. "Stop playing Cain and Abel. You are fighting over something dumb."

5. "Keep your seat in your seat while you eat."

6. "Life's not fair, and 'fair' does not mean what you think it means. It is not synonymous with 'get what I want.'"

7. "You're crying over that? Life has so many more difficult challenges awaiting you."

8. "Unless you're wearing a race number, no one gives out awards for being first."

9. "Television will suck IQ points right out of you."

10. "No, you may not get something from Starbucks; caffeine stunts your growth."

11. "Sweetheart, if we keep every paper you came home with, we'd be neck-high by now."

12. "Treat me with the same respect you would your teachers."



With these handy Siri Parenting phrases, I simply need a robot to do the chauffeuring, laundry, yard, cooking, and housekeeping, and I could veritably escape to the mountains unnoticed

Here are some of my favorite parenting tidbits from others:

Bill Cosby: "I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it."

Christy Arnold (my sister-in-law): "How about you go outside and play in traffic?"

Kim Holloway: "You get what you get, and you don't throw a fit."

Karen Robert (my mom): "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." I still revisit that one from time to time...

Do you have any classics of your own? 

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CHabstain

My appetite seems to have missed out on my body's most recent news headline:

Fuel Demands Plummet in Wake of Marathon Completion 

Now that my weekly running mileage has dropped from 45 to zero, I must take a hard look at my fueling strategy. During those high-mileage weeks, I refrained from all-out splurging, but I did allow certain indulgences. Without all the calorie-torching mileage, however, I am destined to pack on about 2 pounds per week unless I make some dietary adjustments. If only my appetite were as logical as my marathon training program.

This comes as no surprise. Every fall, I carefully tiptoe from October to December in the hope of avoiding the caloric sandbags from Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas parties, and Christmas Eve. I have a number of strategies to help me accomplish this task, considering my strong sense of discipline yet seemingly utter lack of self-control: daily weigh-ins (with graphs!), food journaling, checking online resources for nutritional information of various restaurant entrees, etc. I accept that I'll never be as lean as elite runners, and my current (hard-fought) weight is finally in range for my height. I know it sounds obsessive, but an additional 10 pounds can slow my next 5K by more than a minute.

None of the above strategies is as fun as the CHUB plan, as I call it. You will not read this in any book. It is not a diet (I don't 'diet'). It is not grounded in much medical fact. No dietician will endorse this plan. But for me, it is easy to remember, and not difficult to follow. Most experts tell you never to cut out an entire food group (good advice). In this plan, however, I simply avoid the following CH- items till CHristmas (It has a nice ring to it when you sing it Beastie-Boys style: "No. CHUB. Till Christmas!"):

1. No CHips. Loyal friends could wax philosophical of my fondness for tortilla chips. I find them irresistible: once I start, I am virtually unable to quit. The nutritional value of a tortilla chip is minuscule (so "slim to none, that Slim left town"). The "no CHips" mantra also applies to French fries (think Brit). Recently I've also had to boycott Stacy's Pita Chips, so tastily irresistible that I find an 8-serving bag lasts only 3-4 days.

2. No CHocolate. This one would seem to speak for itself, but all chocolate is not equal. I permit a 4-8 oz. glass of chocolate milk for recovery after a run. (A 2006 study in the International Journal of Sport Nutrition and Exercise Metabolism found that chocolate milk is as good as or better than Gatorade for replacing glucose in fatigued muscles.) I also respect the high-antioxidant health benefits of dark (>70% cacao) bittersweet chocolate, so a small square once daily is OK. Bioflavonoids never tasted so delicious.

3. No CHai. Not a coffee-drinker, I've found a chai tea latte to be a comforting coffee-substitute, which allows me to join the hot beverage and coffeehouse culture. There are a number of health benefits to brewed chai, which is a spiced black tea, with cinnamon, ginger, cardamom, cloves, and various other spices. It is the added sweetener and milk/cream that turn an innocuous cup of tea into a 350-calorie splurge. Brewed chai? Yes. Chai latte from the Jax or Starbucks drive-through? Not till Christmas. (This is admittedly the toughest in my list. Fall is made for harvest flavors, right?)

4. Nothing off the CHildren's plates. How many times have I polished off 200 extra calories just to avoid scraping it into the disposal? At a restaurant, I may diligently order a healthy entree, but then devour the remaining fries or bacon that my kids leave behind. (This should be a year-round rule, right?)

5. Nothing with a CHaracter. If the food item needs a mascot, it probably isn't inherently good for you (think Tony the Tiger, Keebler Elf).

Following a careful plan of CHabstention, I can allow other holiday indulgences and not feel cheated. Meanwhile, I can sensibly indulge in my CHub list the entire rest of the calendar year.

Do you have any tricks to help prevent weight gain through the holidays?

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Thoughts on training for the Monument Marathon

I call myself a runner. I am not a fast runner, but I am a runner nonetheless. I have been running and training for periodic races for about 6 years, and for 2 years quite steadily. This weekend marks my third marathon attempt ('attempt', as I have yet to finish). I hope to run a PR (personal record). This is a lofty goal, given the course, and maybe a little unrealistic (a characteristic error that I seem prone to make). 

My preferred distance is the Half-Marathon (13.1 miles), which I view as a 'raceable endurance event', one in which I can use strategy and pacesetting. My marathon strategy, however, is solely about finishing as respectably as possible (preferably on my feet with my head up). Inevitably I reach the point of exhaustion well before the 26.2 mile finish, and during those later miles, the event becomes almost other-worldly: in both of my other marathons, I experienced the brokenness of dissociative suffering. My mind must separate itself from the flood of pain and exhaustion signals from my body, each step pounding that reminder up through my feet, ankles and shins, ricocheting through my spine into my brain, adding volume to the growing voice in my head that says "Walk. You want to walk. You want to sit. You want to quit." 

Every training cycle has a story. This is the story of my 2012 season. It begins with skepticism. 
My running goals for 2012: 
1. Run consistently, 
2. Build base mileage. 
3. Make 'friends' with hills.
4. Churn out a few RunnersWorld holiday run streaks. 
5. Run some safe, familiar races. 
WNCC threw me a curve ball when they announced the inaugural Monument Marathon slated for October 13, 2012. 

Dayle, you had me at 'inaugural'. My two prior marathons were both inaugural events in meaningful locales (the inaugural 2008 San Antonio Rock & Roll Marathon, and the inaugural 2010 Denver Rock & Roll Marathon). The Monument Marathon promises to be the FIRST race of its type in Western Nebraska, the product of a race director who's run many events ('run', meaning on her own two feet, as well as 'run', meaning she has successfully organized many others). Thanks to the hard work of Dayle Wallien, Tom 'TR' Rohrick, Denee and Paul Janda, and Katie and Jeff Bradshaw, we have a USATF-certified Boston-qualifying course in our own backyard. I could potentially sleep in my own bed the night before the event, and see familiar faces handing out timing chips and sports drink. I would look back on this and regret not running (admittedly a terrible reason to run). I reluctantly registered for the full marathon before the fee hike, and before I could change my mind. 

Check out the Monument Marathon (or even register yourself) at http://www.monumentmarathon.com/

Though you don't know it, many of you have already run the race with me, either in person or in thought. Join with me on a pre-race tour of the Monument Marathon course, seen through my eyes. (Or belabor me, since this is a therapeutic journey for me, and I have many to thank along the way.)  

Unbiased video of the route: http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=uklKAIzZvqA

After running San Antonio, I recall the energy of the start line: this is MY town, MY Spurs, MY Riverwalk, MY Alamo, these are MY people. The cityscape filled me with pride. I can only hope that when I toe the start line at Wildcat Hills, I will feel that same sense of community and pride. I will undoubtedly be shivering in the cold while awaiting the starting pistol, but remembering the blazing-hot summer afternoon hike that Greg Elliott, Brielle, Katherine, and I did three months ago in Wildcat Hills in preparation for Mt. Sherman. 

Once we peel onto Highway 71, it will be hard not to think back on my biggest injury of the season: During one early-morning long run along the dark shoulder of 71, I tripped and fell while engulfed in an oncoming car's high-beams, and experienced my first 'hip pointer'. If I can run 14 miles on the course with a bruised throbbing hip and a bloody stinging road rash, then I can do it on race day, right? Assuming that 71 is partly-closed to vehicular traffic, I will make it to the Sandburg Road turnoff, where my friend Amber (who graciously volunteered) will be extending a cup of sports drink, a smile, and encouragement as I turn east into the Nebraska sunrise. 

Only I know the secret spot in the cornfield alongside Lockwood Road where I had to make a pit stop on a training run to relieve myself, and I fully intend to salute it as I pass it on race day. Don't worry, on Saturday I will refrain from any elimination activities outside of the designated porta-potties. Under the McClellan, watch for birds popping in and out of their mud-nests under the overpass. Run faster to avoid being a target for droppings. 

As we run west across Ave D, visiting runners will get their first glimpse of the sunrise on Scottsbluff National Monument. Despite its ominous size and position at the top of the worst hill of the course, I view the Bluff not as my foe, but as my partner in many fitness endeavors. I will think of Lisa since this is her 'hood. I will smile as I recall the funny 'wildlife' photos that Katie posted on her Monument Marathon blog. 

Check it out: http://scbcitizen.wordpress.com/2012/05/01/monument-marathon-and-its-western-nebraska-scenery/ 

The turn west onto Highway 92 is about the halfway point, and I have mentally prepared for the long, steady uphill through Mitchell Pass. How many settlers' feet have trod countless miles more than mine, with greater suffering and yet with greater purpose? Here, I will conjure up the memory of my favorite run of the entire season, a tough hill-run up Saddle Trail whose reward was a marvelous morning dash down Saddle Road and through the tunnels with Imagine Dragons 'Radioactive' booming in my head. 

Passing Scottsbluff National Monument will bring to mind the many hikes this summer with family, friends, and WestWay-ers in preparation for this year's 14ers Quandary Peak, Mt. Antero, Mt. Sherman, Ellingwood Point, and Blanca Peak. My mind will flood with visual imagery of those (and many other) hikes-- the tough climbs, the summits, the smiles, the tears, the pain, the triumph (the wind, the snow, the rain). I will see the faces of my fellow hikers and imagine them at my side, spurring me on: Jon and Brielle Arnold, Greg Elliott, Mike Andrews, Andrew Thomas, Drew Findley, Manda Troutman, Nate Parrish, Jennifer and Scott Reisig, Katherine Reisig, Faith Reisig, Debbie and Lauren Thomas, Nisha Dietrich, Andrew Roy, Lois Bridges, Kim Skinlo, Amy Holzworth, Anita and Randy Schanaman, John Thomas, Mark Scanlan, Rodd and Nancy Hall, and Ashley Hall. 

Then, I'll run downhill (ah!) along the west slope of Mitchell Pass and past Barn Anew. If there is a train along Ridgeway, I intend wave to the engineer and let the breeze carry me along. I will laugh at the junction of Hunt Dairy Road and Ridgeway, recalling having to bushwhack to cross the tracks on a wrong turn during a training run. 

Then suffering will begin to seep into my run. The next part of the course will take its toll at a distance that is a common breaking point in a marathon. Experienced marathoners say the last 10K (the last 6 miles) of a marathon is where the real race begins, and my limited experience has proven that theorem true. Not that the first 20 miles are a piece of cake. By this point, I will be fatigued physically and mentally, and my focus will be sketchy. I'm banking on the fact that I've experienced this part of the course many times: I've run it when the Gering canal was full and when it was bone-dry; I've run it in the hot sun, and in the sandblasting wind; I have seen hawks, wild turkeys, and many deer, and been chased by a dog, and I've fallen and turned an ankle more than once. I've also found a golf ball or two. It will likely be the toughest and loneliest section of this entire course. At this point my form will have deteriorated, and it will take mental effort and constant self-reminders to lift my rib cage, reposition my head and neck, relax my shoulders, shift my pelvis forward, and try to stay light on my feet. I have prayed that God will grant me strength to keep my ankles from turning as I stumble over the rocks, dirt, and gravel. Quicken my foot turnover, like local runner and coach Aaron Carrizales, who has been so gracious and encouraging to all of us runners this season. Defy the 'slow', like David Griffiths, who methodically plods on the treadmill in his basement and continues to get faster despite the inevitable passage of time. 

When I round the corner and see the familiar dead tree, my legs may feel like dead trees, but I will know I am nearing the last of the finger-like turns trough the badlands. I will mentally aim for the radio tower that marks the return to the pavement, and what I feel may be the most-underestimated 'hill' of the course: up Country Club road. I pray that I will still have the energy to maintain a run up this section. Here, I will think back on my longest run of the season, during which I listened to the audio book 'What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.' The author, Haruki Murakami, has a marvelous quote: "Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional." I'm sure I will question that truth at this point in the race. 

I may think back on the suffering I endured trying to keep up with my training runs during 5 days of delayed-onset muscle soreness after hiking Ellingwood and Blanca, and the 'mandatory' runs I did to 'keep the streak' after Quandary and Antero. I will remember the many long runs on the treadmill in my basement while watching a movie (or two), and on the many different hotel fitness-room treadmills staring at a blank wall. I may look back on the sacrifices: mornings I was pulling on shoes while others slept, evenings I spent pounding the pavement instead of gathering with loved ones and friends, hours of lost time with my family. Will all the work and sacrifice pay off? Did the 3-4 week head-cold cost me precious minutes? I could have done more speed work, longer mileage; I should have eaten better, slept more, traveled less, run more and hiked less. Have I have trained well enough to cross the finish line with my head up? To PR? These are the pre-race doubts of every runner. 

I will cherish the turn south onto the Monument pathway, as a flat section for catching my breath. After I pass my usual parking place on the U Street pathway, I will make my way across a short section of canal-ditch to Five Rocks Road, followed by a nice jaunt through an unfortunately not-very-shaded neighborhood, then back across to Highway 92. Here, the final stretch involves a short uphill to the cemetery entrance. I suspect I will be in full-dissociation mode by this point, wishing I could tune-out the constant negative commentary from my psyche, which in its defense is only trying to prevent further tissue damage. It will be mind over matter. If nothing else works, I will resort to 'counting'; I cover about a mile by counting, in rhythm with each footfall and breath-cycle, up to 200 and back down again. This is when I will summon my mantra to drown out the ever-louder droning inner voice of Doubt and Quit and Sit and Stop. For when I am weak then I am strong for when I am weak then I am strong for when I am weak... 

I won't truly surface until I am in the shade of the lined trees of the cemetery. When I run by cemeteries, I ponder life and mortality, and I pray that running will not lengthen my life, but rather enrich it. I will think of how Haruki Murakami wants his headstone to say, "At least he never walked." I will likely not live up to that epitaph, and I will remember that sometimes walking helps me get to the finish, unlike the Japanese party that froze and called 911 on Ellingwood Point this summer when I summited with with John, Mark, and Andrew. I will likely walk the steep but short ravine that precedes the downhill stretch to the finish line. I pray that I have the strength to summon a shuffling trot that will carry me down to Five Rock Amphitheater and across the line with my head up, and familiar faces will greet me and hang a finisher's medal around my tired, sweaty neck (which will be well-sunscreened, thanks to learning the hard way after burning and peeling twice in the November marathon in San Antonio.) 

If I had my way, they'd play The Script and will.i.am's version 'Hall of Fame' as I cross the line. The world of running will never 'know my name' (as the song says), but I will 'go the distance; I will run the miles, and walk straight through hell with a smile'. 

This may be the hardest-earned medal yet. And the most precious, PR or not. 

Secular

Earlier this week, I wrote a post about being a former atheist, and how the Christian walk and the 'moral atheist' lifestyle look way too similar.  Am I actually set apart?  A wise man I know suggests that we don our faith every moment, every day.  This could create a pressure to put on 'the ornaments' of a Christian life: a bookshelf full of publicly-recognized Christian authors, a Jesus fish on my car, all the right Air1 artists on my iPad, Focus on the Family videos on my Facebook page, footprints on the bookmark in my Beth Moore book?

Please know that, even outside of the Church, there are pieces of God everywhere.  There are morsels on the floor for those of us who weren't raised at the Masters table. Growing up 'secular', my first encounters with God were not in a church building, at a retreat or camp.  I have been bestowed with the gift of seeing the Divine in the secular (whether that is a spiritual gift is open for debate).  Those who know me recognize this. Where one person may gaze critically at the stars and shudder at the falsehoods of astrology, I see the unchanging God in the Heavens. Another may recoil at the sin laid bare in the lyrics of Numb, What I've Done, Leave Out all the Rest, or Waiting for the End, but I hear a cry for redemption and deliverance from Linkin Park.  (Bet we won't be singing those choruses in the building Sunday morning!)  I see through the alleged-witchcraft and savor an allegory of Christ in the story of Harry Potter.  I seek the Holy Spirit in the earthly dirt of a run or a hike.  Hence, I cherish the mountains and visit them as often as I can.  They remind me that faith has already moved mountains, by moving me.

So I question:
Why is the Divine-amid-the-secular seen as unacceptable in the church?  Is truth no longer truth when it is tainted with the stuff of earth?  Or do we consume it only when it comes packaged within a Zondervan label?

Do not let what you know is good be spoken of as evil.
     -Romans 14:16

Atheist

I am from the secular world.  Granted, it was the moral side of town, but still the secular side of the tracks.  I was unchurched. Let's take a peek back:  maybe it is not as different as you think.

The world was all I knew; I figured I should make the most of it.  If I got only one shot at life on earth, then by golly, I was gonna really live.  Aim high. Live joyously.  Not by means of debauchery, mind you.   I could easily avoid the mistakes of others in my generation by guarding my actions and behaviors.  I knew the love of family, friends, and nature.  Altruism was surprising not as rare as you'd expect for an atheist, but it served no higher purpose than a means to mutual respect.  I discovered deep meaning in literature, science, and mathematics.  I enjoyed the rich resonant beauty in music.  I had a good work ethic, and was overall a good citizen (save a few speeding tickets). I lived comfortably, not extravagantly.  There were no glaring blemishes on my reputation.  I made good choices about my health so that I would see many years to come.  I donated to worthy causes.  I'd like to say I was patriotic, but well, nobody's perfect.  I would plan my life and retire early, then relax and enjoy the fruits of my labor.

But at the end of the day, in the quiet dark of the night while awaiting sleep, I would reflect on my own mortality. When my time came, I would be snuffed out like a candle.  A switch flipped. Lights out.  Cold, black nothing.  The end.  Forever.

You see, as a nonbeliever, as an atheist, my life's purpose revolved around me: my comforts, my dreams, my joys, and my loves.  It was unmistakably hopeless.  I was an unsuspecting passenger on a runaway train barreling toward certain doom, yet all the while I was more concerned about a pleasant journey, rather than how to get off that ride I knew had an end.  If that life plan sounds familiar, then maybe you are living my former dream:  the dream of the common atheist (a.k.a.'the American dream').

Shouldn't salvation impact our lives?  Should the blood of Christ bring more than just the hope of eternity in Heaven with our Creator?  When you think of Peter, do you recall images of a successful peaceful fisherman?  Was Paul's Christian claim-to-fame that he was a model citizen?  Does the wife of noble character in Proverbs 31 spend her days delving into Beth Moore studies?  Similarly, I lived a well-intended, moral, ethical life before I became a follower of Christ.  But it was perfectly self-centered, hell-bound, hopeless, and wholly lost.

Please don't confuse the truth of God with living morally.
And don't forget that you are a sojourner.  Time to get off the train.

Lie #7

Let's revisit another lie-- something the world tells us that we sometimes unquestioningly believe.

Lie #7:

Vengeance is sweet.

This weekend, I enjoyed my first Western and saw the remake of True Grit.   **spoiler alert**

Persistent 14 year-old Mattie Ross journeys to Fort Smith, Arkansas in the 1870s, determined to extract justice for her father's death.  Mattie bargains for the assistance of the U.S. Marshall Cogburn: "they tell me you are a man of true grit."  With the help of the drunkard U.S. Marshall and a stubborn Texas Ranger, they journey across the Indian Territory to capture Tom Chaney, her father's remorseless murderer, and have him hanged for the crime.  The trio persevere the harsh elements of the land, the constant threat of harm, and encounter both the dead and soon-to-be-dead.  'True grit' aptly describes not only the whiskey-prone quarrelsome Rooster Cogburn, but also the egocentric talkative tongue-tied Ranger LeBoeuf, and surprisingly the the tenacious, feisty, smart-tongued Mattie.  Mattie is coming-of-age in a ruthless world, and Mattie relates with Cogburn and LeBoeuf as twisted father and brother figures.  But I digress....

Mattie unexpectedly stumbles on the trail of the murderous Chaney when she goes alone to draw water from the nearby river.  She hesitates to shoot, and is instead abducted.  Mattie has a second opportunity.  The moviegoer watches as Cogburn gets sidetracked, LeBoeuf takes a blow to the head, and young Mattie confronts Chaney face-to-face.  Shotgun in hand, she points the barrel at Chaney.  The entire theater fell silent, wondering: would she do it?  Could she kill him?  After all, he murdered her father in cold blood.  Would she pardon him, as her father had?  That mercy cost her father his life.  As I watched the film, I silently wished she would show him mercy.  But there was a part of me that wanted her to avenge her father's death.  I'm not sure even Mattie gave this choice much thought.  She pulled the trigger and Chaney fell.  I didn't know whether to cheer or cry.  All three returned home from their adventure, minus the arm Mattie lost due to snakebite.

In the final scene of the movie, a gray-haired Mattie Ross returns to Arkansas to seek out her childhood companions, unsuccessfully.  She is depicted as a cold, hardened, old maid.  Her lips are tight, and her eyes are steeled.  Retribution had become a thief.  Mattie's quest for justice stole not only her arm.  She lost her compassion and mercy.

We often rejoice at justice served.  Did some of us applaud as Stephen King's Carrie set the prom ablaze after being the victim of cruel schoolgirl jokes?  Kill Bill (which I have never seen) grossed $70M in the name of revenge.  Braveheart, V for Vendetta, Gladiator, Star Trek II the Wrath of Khan, and even the almost-chick-flick Sleeping with the Enemy depict revenge as a major plot.  I was even pulling for the brainiacs in Revenge of the Nerds.  My kids cheered on The Karate Kid. On the flip side, we are uneasy with a due-punishment thwarted (The Lovely Bones).

The need to enforce punishment and inflict suffering on those who've wronged us seems to be a primal urge, fueled by wrath and fury.  Revenge, simply, is getting even.  It is the dark side of reciprocity.  This is a far cry from the lessons we believe in scripture:

Do not repay anyone evil for evil.  Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone.  If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.  Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay," says the Lord. On the contrary:
     "If your enemy is hungry, feed him;
     if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.
     In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head."  Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. --Romans 12:17-21, Proverbs 25: 21-22

You shall not take vengeance, nor bear any grudge against the sons of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself; I am the Lord. --Leviticus 19:17

What good comes of exacting revenge on another?  Do we find peace through revenge?  I don't think so.  I suspect Mattie Ross lived a life devoid of love after vindicating her father's death.  She chose to exhume the body of Cogburn and relocate it to her family plot.  It was the closest she ever got to giving him thanks.  I suspect that if you were to peel away the scab of bitterness, vengeance may be the underlying wound that never healed.

There are those who turn justice into bitterness
and cast righteousness to the ground. --Amos 5:6

Do you think the world lies to us by suggesting we should seek our own justice and vengeance?  Can you think of a time when you 'enjoyed sweet revenge'?  How did it affect you?  How did it affect others?

Lie #6

We often buy in to our worldly culture, which may hold very little truth.  The next lie I will discuss is this:

Lie #6:
I deserve ____________.

Really you could put just about anything in that blank space.
The issue here is entitlement.

What is entitlement?
-The notion or belief that one is deserving of a reward or benefit 
-the expectation of a reward
-the right to demand some sort of reimbursement from fate

This is a common attitude I see in my children, reflected in such statements as, "that's not fair" or "you owe me" (typically followed by whining).

The sad truth is this:  the lie of entitlement has been perpetuated by many adults.

JG Wentworth depicts this quite well in their TV commercial regarding structured settlements and annuities:
"Its MY MONEY, and I need it NOW!"

We want it NOW.
I have rights, you know.
"They" owe me.

Who, exactly is "they"?  Our employer? The government?  'Fate' and 'fortune'?  Perhaps even God? Obviously this is whomever we blame for the circumstances in which we find ourselves.

We've already looked at a few of these:  I deserve to see my kids grow up.  I deserve to grow old with my spouse.
(See prior posts, yada, yada, yada.)

We feel entitled to live the good life, the American dream: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  I'm entitled to receive preferential treatment, entitled to forgiveness, entitled to have my shortcomings overlooked.  Am I entitled to material blessings, physical comfort, maybe even beauty.  I deserve a large settlement for my work-related injury.  I deserve a handout.  Maybe it is more subtle:  would I feel robbed if my employer delays or eliminates the expected annual cost of living raise. 

Entitlement is the archenemy of thankfulness.  It is a very cancer that is eating away at the financial stability of our country.  It eats away at the contentment in our communities.  Interestingly, I did not witness much entitlement when I spent a summer in Bangkok.  It seems to be the epidemic of the industrialized nation, the so-called enlightened.

I don't think 'entitlement' is a 21st century burden, and, despite my experience in Thailand, it is not just American. 

"For the Kingdom of Heaven is like a man who was the master of a household, who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard.  When he had agreed with the laborers for a denarius a day, he sent them into his vineyard. He went out about the third hour, and saw others standing idle in the marketplace. To them he said, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and whatever is right I will give you.’ So they went their way. Again he went out about the sixth and the ninth hour, and did likewise. About the eleventh hour he went out, and found others standing idle. He said to them, ‘Why do you stand here all day idle?’ "They said to him, ‘Because no one has hired us.’ "He said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and you will receive whatever is right.’ When evening had come, the lord of the vineyard said to his steward, ‘Call the laborers and pay them their wages, beginning from the last to the first.’ "When those who were hired at about the eleventh hour came, they each received a denarius.  When the first came, they supposed that they would receive more; and they likewise each received a denarius. When they received it, they murmured against the master of the household, saying, ‘These last have spent one hour, and you have made them equal to us, who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat!’ "But he answered one of them, ‘Friend, I am doing you no wrong. Didn’t you agree with me for a denarius? Take that which is yours, and go your way. It is my desire to give to this last just as much as to you. Isn’t it lawful for me to do what I want to with what I own? Or is your eye evil, because I am good?’ So the last will be first, and the first last. For many are called, but few are chosen."  --Matt 20:1-16 

Even rewards in Heaven are not proportional to your worldly 'time served.'  It doesn't seem very fair by our standards.

My favorite Relient K lyric says this:

And this life sentence that I’m serving
I admit that I’m every bit deserving
But the beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair.

How does grace make life not fair?   What would have been 'fair'?  The Biblical 'expectation' is clear: 

For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.  --Romans 3:23-24

For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord. --Romans 6:23

So let's take another look at the Biblical expectation: 
I deserve _________.
I have sinned.  I deserve death.  
Worse, I deserve separation from God.

What, then, is "the beauty of grace which makes life not fair"?  'Fair' as defined by Biblical standards, is that I deserve to die.  Grace is unearned favor from God.

What do I deserve?
I don't deserve anything short of death.  I am more than grateful for the grace of God through Jesus Christ in my life.  I am indebted to this Messiah who makes my life 'unfair' by offering me grace.  It is by the grace of God that I am allowed to breathe, run, blog, climb, resonate, etc.  I pray that I may to do those things for His glory (all the while attempting to get myself out of the way).

What do you deserve?

Lie #5

Don't get too engrossed in this little poem here.
I fully intend to rip it apart on behalf of Lie of the World #5:  Self-esteem is a virtue.  (Fitting title for the poem, huh?)

Hello World

I am amazing
Incredible me
Celebrating the being
I choose to be

I am uniquely spectacular
I am one of a kind
Creativity oozes
From my heart and mind

I'm stupendous, tremendous
I stand out from the crowd
I do things
That aren't allowed

I'm inspired, desired
I'm wonderfully weird
I am unbridled passion
I am highly revered

I'm outrageous, contagious
I am daring and bold
I am honored and cherished
I'm a treasure to hold

I am gifted, uplifted
I am endlessly blessed
I am sought out
For the skills I possess

I'm delightful, insightful
I am loved and adored
I live a charmed life
I'm renewed and restored

I am greateful, elateful
I am centered and wise
I am wealthy and worthy
I am God in disguise

I declare my brilliance
It won't be denied
The world cries out
For what I provide

I am powerful, masterful
I am focused and clear
Life beams brighter
Because I am here

I am blazing, amazing
I can't be contained
I'm a glorious fabulous
Radiant flame

I choose to exude
All this and much more
My wings are spread
Watch me soar!

--Dan Coppersmith

I have a sensitive tooth that groans at me when I provoke it with cold or sweet food items.  I think I may have felt a twinge just typing the poem.  So, once you've finished choking on the saccharin, take a breath and long look at what you believe about self-esteem.  You may equate Dan Coppersmith with the Daily Affirmations of Stuart Smalley, but chances are, you associate self-esteem with happiness and success.

On one hand, self-esteem refers to a realistic respect for or favorable impression of oneself; self-respect.  It can also refer to an inordinately or exaggeratedly favorable impression of oneself.

The online thesaurus says this about self-esteem:

Main Entry:	self-respect/self-esteem
Part of Speech:	noun
Definition:	pride in oneself
Synonyms:	amour-propre, conceit, confidence, dignity, egotism, faith in oneself, morale, narcissism, self-assurance, self-content, self-regard, self-satisfaction, vanity, worth
Antonyms:	self-doubt, uncertainty

 __________

What does the Bible say about self-esteem?   

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-esteem, right?  Um, no.

They these on for size:

For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you.  --Romans 12:3

Therefore, as it is written: “Let him who boasts boast in the Lord.”  --1 Corinthians 1:31

 __________

Although self-deprecation is probably a bad idea, a realistic self-concept is probably not a bad idea.  We as Christians should maintain some measure of self-respect.  We have to regard ourselves as something in order to respect others.

Jesus replied:  'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment.  And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments. --Matthew 22:37-40

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. --Philippians 2:3

After all, no one ever hated his own body, but he feeds and cares for it, just as Christ does the church. --Ephesians 5:29

 __________

Although I cannot find any passages in the Bible to support the notion that I should lift myself up, there are ample passages about lifting up others.

Let another praise you, and not your own mouth; someone else, and not your own lips.  --Proverbs 27:2

Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing. --1 Thessalonians 5:10

And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.  --Hebrews 10:24

 __________

We get encouragement from our Christian brothers and sisters, but where do we truly find our value?

Humble yourselves before the Lord, and He will lift you up. --James 4:10

What do you think?  
Is self-esteem a lie we've just grown accustomed to?