Calling

Once again, it’s past time for bed and I can’t turn my mind off.  Perhaps this is God’s way of telling me that I don’t need as much sleep as I think I do…

At any rate, tonight I’ve been pondering lots of things – from my meeting with a funding group comprised of CF parents and doctors and researchers today, to Boston to prayer to the song I’m listening to right now, Glorious Day by Casting Crowns.  I’ve also been thinking a lot lately about what I’m supposed to be doing.

That may sound like a strange statement from someone who has signed on to five years in a PhD program, and don’t get me wrong – I think that this is part of what what I’m called to be doing right now or I wouldn’t have moved back to the Midwest to pursue a PhD.  But I’ve been faced lately with other things that I could be doing that could make a difference to so many people.

Particularly after today’s meeting, I’m struck by the impact I could have, not in my own strength, and not by what I’ve done, but by what Christ has done through me and through my CF.  The ability He’s given me to sing praises despite the circumstances.  The chance I have to write to encourage others.  The people I have the chance to impact by telling my story, honest struggles and triumphant victories.  The opportunity I have to make an impact in the CF community through research.

I grew up at a young age – I was faced with the brevity of life, but faced it with faith.  Faith that God has a plan for my life, no matter how long or how short.  Faith that He would call me where I would be used for His glory.  Faith that He has a purpose for my CF.  I can’t sit here and say that my faith has not wavered over the years.  I have days when I wonder if God has forgotten about me down here, when I question why, when I struggle with things.  But He is still here, standing by me, carrying me when necessary.  He still has a plan for me, and He will never leave me.

So what am I called to do?  Where can I best serve?  How can I best be used?  Do I try to focus on my research and nothing else?  Do I try to write a book that could encourage many?  Do I try to record songs that could be played and encourage people?

So what do I do?  Continue fading into the background  because there are too many people already caught up in their own lives and struggles who don’t need to worry about me too?  Wait for God’s timing in finding someone to share my life with?  Go about my daily life with my walls up, attentive to others and their struggles but not willing to share my own?  Or do I willingly step into a recording studio, spend time writing when I’m not in the lab or class, start speaking out in the community?

I don’t propose to do these things tomorrow, nor do I want to rush into anything.  It’s just what’s on my mind right now.  But I do want to keep the verse  below in mind (Ephesians 2:8-9).  It is not in my strength that I could even imagine doing these things.  It is not for me that I would do these things or continue to do what I am doing (research and blogging).  I do it so that someone else’s faith can be strengthened, that they can be encouraged by what God has done in my life.  I would appreciate your thoughts and prayers as I consider what God is calling me to do right now, alongside pursuing my graduate degree.

 “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—  not by works, so that no one can boast.”

Praying for Boston

It may be time for bed, but I can’t turn my mind off.  As I watch the explosion that rocked the finish line of the Boston Marathon over and over on the television screen, I am reminded of the hurt that is in this world, the evil that is allowed to endure.  But as I browse my facebook news feed, I am also reminded of hope.

The bombs that went off today, no matter who set it up, no matter who carried it out, no matter why it happened, it is wrong.  Wrong to take innocent lives, wrong to change forever others, wrong on a day which is so triumphant for so many people.  The horrific events of today are lined right now by confusion, chaos, unanswered questions, sadness, and so much more.

But throughout my newsfeed, there is post after post about praying for Boston, from those who are Christians and those who are not.  There are links upon links to stories about the bombs, pictures of people carrying the wounded, treating the wounded, helping those who could not help themselves.  And there are links to massive posts on a Craigslist-like site, offering free housing to those visiting Boston tonight – couches, beds, food for those who have nothing today.  This is the hope I speak of – in the wake of the unspeakable tragedy today, the race dedicated to the victims of the Newtown shootings – there are people who are opening their homes, their wallets, their hearts to those in need.  There are the skilled hands of the doctors and surgeons who have been working tirelessly to help those who are hurt.  There are the psychologists who are talking with people, counseling them through this time.  There are runners who continued running from the finish line to Mass General to give blood.  There are the firefighters, policemen, and race volunteers who have been working to keep people safe.  There are thousands, dare I say millions, of people who are praying.

 

Psalm 46

God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.[c]

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells.
God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.
Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;
he lifts his voice, the earth melts.

The Lord Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.

Come and see what the Lord has done,
the desolations he has brought on the earth.
He makes wars cease
to the ends of the earth.
He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;
he burns the shields[d] with fire.
10 He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”

11 The Lord Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.

Finish the race

As many of you probably already know, I completed the Half Marathon course for the Rock CF Rivers Foundation on Sunday.  Let me take you through the race – bear with me. There will be a point somewhere along the way.  🙂

Training:  I did really well in January, running nearly every day and running up to 7 miles on my long runs.  Most of this running was done on an indoor track, running around in circles (which I hate).  Then February rolled around, and I started to feel under the weather, was battling both a Pseudomonas infection and a MRSA infection, and my training came to a screeching halt.  March came rolling in, and the weather was supposed to get warmer.  Clearly, it didn’t.  Every time I tried to run outside, I couldn’t breathe – it was too cold.  I managed to train a little bit in March, but not nearly up to the mileage that I really needed to successfully complete the race.

Sunday:  A screeching alarm woke me at 3 am.  What an awful time to wake up.  I did my medications and got my stuff ready to leave, and around 4 am, I started to drive.  Temperature: 22 degrees F.  The race was about 2 hours away.  I made it onto the island where the race was being held, and got on the shuttle to go to the start line.  Temperature: 24 degrees F.  I obtained my packet and race bib, and sat down on the cold tile of a high school to stay warm.  Most of the race participants were milling around the gym, but as a CF patient, I had to stay outside of the large spaces to try to minimize health risks to other CF patients.  There were 29 runners with CF at this race, and over 1000 other runners for the Half Marathon and 5K races.  But I digress.  A woman named Gail happened to be waiting next to me in the hallway, and we struck up a conversation.  She and her friends are trying to run half marathons in all 50 states.  This was her 20th.  Around 7:30 am, all of us began to make our way outside into the chilly morning air to the start line.  Temperature: 28 degrees F, wind chill of low teens.  “It’s never been this cold for this race,” the race director said to the crowd, “but we’re going to run it anyway, just like we’re going to keep outrunning CF.”

After the national anthem, the gun sounded and we were off.  The first mile was great.  People were still very bunched up, being that there were a lot of us, but slowly the field started to separate.  Mile 2 was pretty good, hit the first water station and still feeling good.  Miles 3 and 4 proved to be slightly more difficult, as my body started fighting me.  The wind on the island combined with the very cold temperatures and my apparent lack of appropriate running clothing and wind breaking materials and dearth of training proved to be too much.  My legs began to seize up every time I would try to go from my brisk walk to jogging (which I had been forced to resort to about mile 3.5).  So, as a very stubborn person, I began to just walk quickly.  And every mile sign I hit made me realize how cold it was.  It wasn’t until about Mile 8 when the race marshals started asking me if I was okay, that I realized just how cold my body was.  I had clenched my hands during the first half of the race, and now I found it difficult to straighten my fingers or open the protein bar that was in my pocket.  I began to methodically shake out my hands and arms to warm them up while telling my legs to just keep walking.

Back about miles 2 and 3, I asked myself why in the world I was doing this.  Because I want CF to stand for Cure Found.  Because so many people have helped support me over the years.  Because I can.  Mile 4, I asked God why he let me do this.  Because you were foolish enough to sign up for it.  Because you have to rely on me to help you finish.  Mile 5, I asked myself why I did this (physically) alone.  Because you wanted to prove that you could.  Because you have a hard time trusting people.  Because you don’t ask for help.  Mile 6, I was a wreck.  I was crying behind my black sunglasses (which I didn’t really need because the sun never made an appearance).  Mile 7, I was emotionally drained.  I now knew why I was doing this, and why God let me do it, and why it was so hard.  Because I was doing it alone.  Or so I thought.  Physically, yes.  I was the only one there for me.  But God quickly brought my attention back to the amazing number of people who were praying for me, at that very moment.  The sheer incredible number of people who cared, and who were rooting for me to finish.

Mile 8 brought more clouds in the sky, more wind, and more cold, and at that point, I got out of my own head, and started worrying about if my body was physically going to make it across the finish line.  It was SO cold.  I could no longer see anyone in front of me or behind me, and the water stations I reached subsequently were starting to shut down and pack up.  At mile 9, I was mad at myself for being the last person to finish.  I was angry that I hadn’t lived up to the expectations that I had set for myself.  And at mile 10, as I was going through the airport hanger, God reminded me (none too gently) that my goal was not a time, or any sort of show for anyone else – it was to finish.  Finish the race.  Endure.  To keep pushing even though I was exhausted and worn down.  Yes, I had wanted to do well for myself, but I really wasn’t doing this for me, was I?  As miles 11 and 12 slowly showed up, I realized something that God has had to keep teaching me (and will have to keep teaching me).  I can’t do it alone.  I can’t go through life alone, expecting to save myself, from CF, from the grip of sin, from the enticing lies Satan tells me.  I can’t do it alone, and I don’t have to.  First of all, I have God.  He is all I need.  And it is truly by his grace alone that I saw the Mile 13 sign.  Stepping onto the track to the finish line, I started to run.  Ten steps from the finish line, I couldn’t run anymore.  I had to walk (more like limp) across the finish line (the pictures are awful, let me tell you).  But I crossed the finish line.  With tears in my eyes, I accepted my participation medal and my awful time (3.5 hours), not in sorrow, but in thankfulness.  For the ability to cross the finish line.  For the grace of God to get me across the finish line.  For the people supporting me all over the world.  For the opportunity to “run” 13.1 miles.  For my CF, and the ministry tool that it is.  For the fact that I don’t go through this life alone.  For the fact that I finished the race.

I was hypothermic and stubborn and exhausted by the time I made it inside the high school.  But I finished the race by the grace of God.  I’m not going to lie – I was still incredibly disappointed in myself and the slow time I put up, but I was NOT the last person to finish!  As I ran my hands under warm water to unfreeze them, I slowly moved toward being thankful again.  There’s nowhere to go from here except up, right?

As I began my two hour drive home, I thought about what I was going to tell people about the race, how honest I was going to be about how hard it really was, emotionally and physically.  How I was going to answer when people asked me if I would do this again.  And I realized, I had to be completely honest if I wanted to be true to what God had taught me over those 13.1 miles.  The struggles, the tears, the pain, the triumph, the lessons, and the realizations.  All of it.

So there it is, honestly.  I finished this race.  There are so many more races to come in life – both physical half marathons and the marathon of life, toward the words “Well done, good and faithful servant.”  I’ll run this race again, and I’m sure I’ll fall and fail and cry again.  I’ll fall and fail and cry in the marathon of life, too.  And people will be there to pick me up, and God will be there to remind me again and again of why I’m running this race.

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 2 Timothy 4:7

Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us,  looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Hebrews 12:1-2

Help me find it

If there’s a road I should walk
Help me find it
If I need to be still
Give me peace for the moment
Whatever Your will
Whatever Your will
Can you help me find it
Can you help me find it

Help me find it, Sidewalk Prophets

After trying to write about this song for the last few days, I’ve decided to let it stand on its own.  Listen to it (I’ve even embedded the youtube above so you don’t have to copy and paste the link.   Now you have no excuse), and wherever you are in your life right now, find encouragement in the fact that God is God, and you are not.  Trust Him that He knows what He’s doing, every step of the way.  Have faith that He won’t let you go, ever.  Wait for Him, His timing, His healing, His direction.  If you are hurting, pour out your heart to him, and He will heal it in His time.  If you are wandering, ask Him to guide you.  If you are lonely, ask Him to be enough for you.  If you are on top of the mountain, praise Him.  If you are in the valley, praise Him.

Wherever you are right now, whatever stage of your life you are in, be encouraged.  He is still God, and He is still with you.

Amazing.

I’m always amazed when God places me in the right place at the right time for someone else’s benefit as well as my own.  I shouldn’t be so amazed, He’s God.  That’s what He does, what He is.  AMAZING.

God placed me in my parent’s arms over 22 years ago, knowing that I would be loved and cared for, supported and with good healthcare.

God sent me to Poland in 2006, where I was given the incredible opportunity to learn and grow with my brothers and sisters in another land.

God sent me to Gordon College, where He knew I would be challenged and changed.  He sent me to the far off places of the Adirondacks to test me and to break me so that He could put me back together.  He placed me at NSCBC, where I would share, for the first time to a large group, my story.  During that testimony, He put me in touch with someone who had a friend with CF who I am still in contact with today.  God opened the door at the right time for me to speak power into the lives of my peers and professors during evening chapel, sharing again the story which I have kept quiet for so long – my struggle and triumphs with CF.

God sent me to China and Hong Kong, where a piece of my heart will forever stay.  With the dying children I held, the Filipino women I cried with and laughed with, with the powerful church in Hong Kong we worked with, with the incredible mountains and valleys in China, and with the mentally ill boy who I sat with.  God knew, somehow, that this was where I needed to go to be thankful for the life I have, to be reminded by the pictures on my wall of the children who are with Him in heaven now, and to breathe in His grace and mercy in a new way.

God sent me to Michigan.  I didn’t get it for a long time.  I didn’t understand why He sent me away from all that I knew in Massachusetts, away from my comfort zone.  But now, I see, at least in part.  He knew that I would struggle.  He knew that I would cry.  He knew that I would stumble upon the greatest adventure of my life (so far) – working in a lab where I get to work on my own disease, but where I can no longer hide from it.

Hiding.  That’s what I’ve been doing for nearly 22 years.  I don’t tell people about my CF because of the negative reactions I’ve gotten in the past.  I don’t tell people about my CF because I don’t want to be seen differently (whether positive or negative).  I don’t tell people because I don’t want it to define me.  I don’t tell people because I’m afraid they will walk away.  Because it’s happened before.  So instead, I hide the greatest ministry tool that God has given me.  I hide the pain, the hardship, the loneliness, the difficulties beneath the tired, worn out exterior that I blame on a stressful graduate school program.  I hide the blessings beneath the ruse of someone who has it all together.  I hide.

But I’m done hiding.  Mostly because I kind of can’t hide anymore, but also because I’ve realized that I can’t do what God has called me to do if I keep hiding.  That doesn’t mean that when I meet you on the street, I’ll introduce myself as “Kristen with CF”.  That doesn’t mean that I’ll tell everyone, ever.  But what it does mean is that I’ll be honest with the people I trust (if you’re reading this, you probably are a part of that group).  It means that I’ll be more open to talking to large groups about my life and what God has done through me.  It means that if I see someone struggling with something related to genetic disorders, CF, doctors, hospitals, insurance companies, etc., I’ll offer my help in whatever capacity I can, because I get it, to some extent.  It means that CF is a part of who I am, and always will be.  It means that I can’t be afraid of what people will say or do once they know.  I’ve got to put that in God’s hands.

Speaking, writing, singing, swimming, running, researching – I’m done hiding.  I can’t do what I’ve been called to if I’m hiding.  So I’m done hiding.  And I can prove it (at least this time).

Yesterday at church, the guest speaker mentioned a young family welcoming a child who has been diagnosed with CF into their home, as an example of people he knew who were struggling.  After the service, I gave him my contact information for the family, if they ever needed anything.  Not screaming from a mountain top, but not hiding.  It’s a start.

Lent and Love

It seems to be that whenever something NEEDS to get done – studying, writing a presentation, writing that darned grant proposal – I read something or hear something that brings me to this page, where I write.  Often my thoughts are a jumbled mess, and many deleted lines later, they get published to this blog so that you can read them, and so that I can re-read them.  This post is honest, and difficult for me to write because it is personal.

Today is Fat Tuesday, a day where most of us take the chance to eat junk food and doughnuts and “forget” to eat our vegetables.  It’s the day before we give stuff up – Facebook, eating junk food, eating fast food, chocolate, coffee, soda – all the things we should eat or do only in moderation anyway.  But it’s more than that, or at least it’s supposed to be.  Fat Tuesday is the day before Ash Wednesday, when we remember that “We are dust, and to dust we shall return” and we are invited to share in a fast to prepare our hearts for Easter.  Easter is about redemption, recognizing our sin, repenting of our sin, and remembering our frailty.  Easter is a celebration, yes, but the forty days prior to it is a chance to come face to face with the man in the mirror – to strip away the layers of makeup that hide who we really are and how deeply flawed and sinful we are.  To face the reality of our brokenness, to open our eyes to the things we need to change in ourselves.  To shine the spotlight on our deepest fears, our most desperate hopes, our honest mistakes, our guilt, our sin, and our shame.

Something I struggle with a lot is this:  I care about what other people think of me, and I yearn for their approval.  I struggle to see myself as Christ sees me, as He made me.  I put too much stock in what people say.  To that end, let me draw your attention to this:  This year, Ash Wednesday falls right before my least favorite “holiday” of the year.  Valentine’s day.  Confession: I HATE Valentine’s day.  Perhaps it’s because, in the 22 years of my life, I have been single for all but one of them, when most of my friends are not.  Perhaps it’s because it’s an open invitation to eat chocolate and not feel guilty (until tomorrow at least).  Perhaps it’s because I hate the advertisements on television for jewelry and chocolate and those disgusting conversation hearts.  Perhaps it’s because it’s not a real holiday (at least in my eyes).  Whatever the reason, I still hate it.  I am genuinely happy for those people who are in great relationships, who are engaged, married, dating, or courting the person they love.  It’s nice to see that those relationships do exist.  For me, though, this day serves as a reminder of what people have said about and to me in the past that has hurt me.  The reasons why I’m “not good enough” or “not worth anything” or “not pretty enough” or plain just “not enough”.  The lines that play on repeat in my head – “You’re not worth anything because you’re going to die young” “Why would anyone ever want you?” “Who could love you with all your problems and the baggage you carry?” – they still hurt, and this day reminds me of my inadequacies in the eyes of people.

For anyone who is even remotely in the same boat as me, I hope you can take hope in this.  Fat Tuesday comes before Ash Wednesday.  Ash Wednesday (this year) comes before Loving Thursday (as I have dubbed it, don’t judge).  This Thursday, I want to remember how Christ loved me.  I want to celebrate that He died for me because He LOVED ME.  I want to remember that I am worth something to Him.  I want to focus on the fact that He has written my name is His book, and invited me into His presence.  I want to focus on that this Thursday, and then I will focus on my reflection in the mirror.  I was made in the image of God, and that’s what I want people to see when they look at me: the love of Christ.  (Disclaimer: I may still come home from work and watch a chick flick and eat chocolate by myself.  Don’t judge.)

So, this Lenten season: I want to look in the mirror and strip away the makeup, revealing my sins, my faults, my fears.  And then I will walk to Calvary, where my sins nailed Him to the tree.  Where I yelled, “Crucify Him!” with the rest of the crowd.  Where my mocking voice called out.  My sin nailed Him to the cross.  And yet still He died to save me.  Hallelujah, thank God for dying for me.  Listen to the song – How deep the Father’s Love for Us.  Close your eyes and just listen to the grace that is yours through Jesus Christ, though we do not deserve it.  But this I know with all my heart, His wounds have paid my ransom.

 

Pain

When things are wrong with our bodies, they respond with pain.  Yes, there’s a whole slew of chemical receptors and signals that explain it, but when something is wrong, we usually know it right away.  And yet many of us, myself included, wait.  We try to ignore the pain, take drugs to relieve the pain, tell ourselves it’s not that bad.  But many times, if it’s bad enough, we succumb to the pain.  We finally go see a doctor, or go to the ER, because it’s interfering with our daily life, the things we want to do, the things we have to do.

When things people do or say are hurtful to us, we know it because we feel it.  Words hurt.  (So do sticks.)  An invitation to others around you but not to you – stings.  Instinctively, we know that these things hurt, but in a different way than pain.  We are aware of the things that people say or do that hurt us, but we often don’t think of the things that we do or say that hurt others.  There’s no pain receptor for that.  Often we don’t even know that we have hurt someone until after the damage is done.  There’s no fluorescent tag, or outward sign, that we have hurt someone.  But we have.  And the damage can sometimes be irreparable.  But just like physical pain, emotional pain can be healed.  It takes time, energy, patience, forgiveness, admitting we were wrong, tears – those are the drugs and the surgeries that can help to heal us.

I didn’t say it was easy.  It’s not.  For us or the other people involved.  But we have to start somewhere.  Doctors start with tests – bloodwork, X-rays, MRIs – so what do we start with?  Questions.  And not the “How are you?” on the street, hoping you’ll just say “Fine” and walk away.  Meaningful, hard questions.  Questions like, “Is there anything I’ve done that has been wrong?”  “Have I hurt you?”  “What did I say?”  “How can we fix this?”  “What can I do differently?”  And then, we interpret the results.  The answers to the questions.  We change things then, or at least we should.  As per the doctor’s recommendations, we take medicine, rest, take time off from work.  In these situations, we pray.  We change.  We love.  And we pray some more.  Sometimes, the results are good, and they happen almost instantaneously.  Other times, it takes months or years to heal.  And sometimes, we never fully heal.  Someone says something, and we remember.  A place makes us remember.  A time of year, a particular day – makes us remember.

For those wounds that never fully heal, we do the best we can.  For those wounds that do heal, we are thankful.  For those wounds which we have yet to begin to heal, we are hopeful.  For the wounds we cause others, we are sorry.  For the wounds we have not yet caused but will cause, we are sorry.  For those wounds which are healing, we continue to feel the pain.  But in all, God is still God.  He is still good.  And we have wounded Him worst of all.  And yet He loves us, heals us, picks us up, saves us, and calls us.  We are His children, and even though we have hurt Him, He heals us.  Should we not try to do the same for others?  Listen to the pain in your own heart, and ask God to let you see the pain in others that you have caused.  That’s what I’m doing.

swrunimer

Runners hate swimming.  And swimmers hate running.  It’s a known fact.  There are a few exceptions, of course.  Until now, I wasn’t one of those exceptions.

I started as a swimmer, as my former coaches can attest.  I started swimming because my doctor suggested it as a good form of exercise, and it was free to join.  That’s always an incentive.  So, I started going to practices, learning the strokes better and building on the lessons I had taken as a kid.  I took to competitive swimming like a fish takes to water and a cheetah to the open desert.  I didn’t think at first that I would continue with it in high school due to the 5:30 am practices, but someone convinced me.  After that, I was a goner.

Why I love swimming (and hate running):

1) Discipline – From time management to following directions to working towards a goal, swimming helped me cultivate a sustainable lifestyle cycling through school and homework and meets and practices and eating and sleeping.  It also took away the majority of my Christmas vacation for eight years, but, let’s be honest – vacation is never really vacation anyway (especially in grad school!).

2) Team – Both in high school and in college, my team was my family.  When you see each other for over twenty hours a week, you get pretty close.  Many people I have swum with over the years are still very good friends.  When you’re around these people day in and day out for so long, you see both their good side and their bad side.  And you love them anyway.

3) Water – I love water.  Not just for it’s chemical properties and unique hydrogen bonding capacity, but also because I feel like I can lose myself in my thoughts and emotions when I’m in it.  When I’m swimming (particularly a long set or long race), I don’t have to talk to anyone but God.  I don’t have to put on a happy face for anyone or act like every thing is okay.  When I’m under water, I can fall apart without fear of judgement or disdain.  I love that I can glide through the water and conquer what’s in front of me.  I can scoop it up and push it behind me.  I can kick it’s tail and move in front of it.  I can’t tell you how many times over my 8 year competitive swimming career I put a problem in front of me, figuratively, as I swam, and literally swam through it, leaving it behind.

4) Exercise – This one is fairly obvious.  It’s a low impact sport, and uses your whole body to move you through the water.  I used muscles I never thought I had when I swam!  But in terms of strokes, I used to like backstroke the best because I didn’t have to think about breath control.  I could breathe whenever I wanted.  Then I began to love butterfly, long distance butterfly to be exact.  I loved the power of the stroke and the beauty of it when watching someone do it right.  Simultaneously, I began to love distance freestyle.  I could just put my head down and swim for a long time, without having to stop, and I loved that.  I loved diving into the water and knowing that I had a little over half an hour to just let my thoughts drift and swim.

5) No running – Except for the occasional dry land workout (and the all too familiar run around Monument park and then those dreaded Stadium stairs in the summer), I got away with never running.  I hated running because I always got out of breath before everybody else.  I looked like I’d run six miles by the sweat drenching my shirt and the redness in my face but really it was only half a mile, less than 10 minutes.  You sweat in the water, of course, but you can’t tell because you’re in water, which is great.  There’s no such luck in the air.

Please do notice that I did NOT say that I enjoyed the skimpy swimsuits that we wear – in fact that is probably my least favorite part.  Particularly the speed suits that seem to hide nothing, in fact they show more than you ever want them to.

To my coaches, Rob and Skip and Laurie: You have helped to make me into the person I am today, athlete, student, and Christian.  I would not have gotten anywhere without those early morning workouts and tough sets and your encouragement.  To my doctors: thank you for suggesting that I pursue a sport.  It changed my life.  To my parents: thank you for driving me to all those practices and meets and for supporting me through all of it.  To my teammates: you are part of what made this sport enjoyable and rewarding.  Whether it was your stupid jokes or strange formations underwater or eating the food off my table during Christmas break, or that date card I pulled out of the gift exchange that year, you made it special.  Thanks.  🙂

Now that I’ve had enough injuries to warrant taking at least a break from swimming, I’ve recently taken up running with the intent of running a half marathon in about two months.  I’ve never been a good runner, or even liked running, but I’m starting to realize that the same things I learned in swimming relate to running.  I wish running was performed in water, but alas, no such luck.  But it’s not all bad, as I’m discovering.  I can put in my headphones and block out the world.  I can tell myself “just keep running, just keep running” instead of “just keep swimming, swimming, swimming” and it takes the same kind of discipline to keep going, whether it’s one mile or thirteen.  So, I suppose I have become a swrunimer.  I still love swimming and will probably always love it more than running, but I’m making peace with running (at least I better be if I’m going to be running 13.1 miles in two months!).

This one’s for you

A baby is born to two very deserving and wonderful parents.  Two dear friends get engaged.  Another friend gets a new job. Another friend gets engaged.   Another one gets married.  Another gets a grant to continue their research.  Another makes amends with her parents.  Another one has a baby on the way.  Another one plans a wedding to her long-time fiance.  A father comes home from war to his children and wife.  Another friend gets into med school.

I could very easily look at all these things and be reminded of all the things I don’t have, be bitter for a time, asking why I have not been blessed with these things.  But it’s seeing these things on Facebook, hearing about them firsthand, and rejoicing with these people that makes me remember why I keep getting out of bed every morning.  And on tough days like today when I feel like my world is crashing around me, I remember that I have not been asked to walk this road alone.

We’re a people who thrive on human interaction, communication, love and respect.  We were created that way.  When God saw Adam in the garden alone, he created a partner for him in Eve – a friend and confidant as well as a fellow worker.  We were created to have each other.  That same sentiment applies when things get tough.  When Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, they faced the wrath of God together, and were banished from the Garden together.  But they were also there for each other in the blessed times – walking in the Garden, communing with God.  In the same way, we are to be there for each other in the joy and in the pain.  Too often I think we forget to be there for each other in the good times.  In Romans, we are told to “rejoice with those who rejoice, and mourn with those who mourn.”  I can name so many times when I’ve mourned with those who mourn (most recently with those in the Newtown shootings), but when was the last time I genuinely rejoiced with those who rejoice?  Too often I view those instances as just dim lights in a dark world, when in fact they are bright, shining, lasting lights in this dark world.  Too often I outwardly rejoice, but inwardly ask what’s wrong with me that these things don’t happen to me.

What’s wrong with me?  I’m looking at myself instead of rejoicing with others.  If I took just two minutes to reflect on how blessed these people are, and how blessed I am to be a part of their lives, I might see things a little differently.  Instead of  feeling sorry for myself, I need to see through their eyes the beauty of the world in that moment, and thank God for it.  I need to be thankful for the things I do have, for the people who are in my life, and continue to chug forward (I think I can, I think I can) one day at a time.  When I get out of bed in the morning, I need to again see the beauty of the world God has created, the intricacies of the flowers, the complexity of the human body, the vastness of the stars, the infinite grace that I’ve been given – I need to be reminded through marriages and births and engagements and home comings of my friends that there is hope.

And maybe that’s what I take away from these things, really.  After I get over feeling sorry for myself and wondering what’s wrong with me, I can see hope.  Hope that there is some good in this world, despite the darkness of the days.  Hope that things will work out in the end because God is directing all my steps.  Hope that someday soon, we will see His coming, rejoice in His return.

But for now, I will rejoice with those who rejoice – so this one’s for you Melissa, Roman, Ariel, Kenny, Meredith, Rob, Tyler, Kate, Seth, and all of my friends who are rejoicing in life right now.  Thank you for allowing me to see hope through your stories, and for giving me more reasons every day to rejoice and thank God for His work in your life.

Glancing back and focusing forward

Another year is behind us, and a new year looms ahead.  2012 has been full of changes, ups, downs, accomplishments, regrets, and so much more.  I finished my final competitive swim season in college, I graduated from college with a BS in chemistry and a BS in biology, I started graduate school in Biochemistry and Molecular Biology, I moved to Michigan, I changed CF centers yet again, I said goodbye to the life I knew at Gordon and stepped into a completely new realm where everything changed, I looked for a new church to call home after leaving Massachusetts, I made new friends and acquaintances, I started working in the lab where I will (hopefully) complete my PhD thesis research, I rented my first apartment, I bought my first car, I successfully presented my senior thesis work to my family and friends, I traveled to China and Hong Kong.  There have been good days, there have been bad days.  There have been new medical ailments (pneumonia) and the reoccurrence of old pathogens (P. aeruginosa).  There have been frustrating days, confusing days, hard days.  I regret the things I did not do, the relationships I did not pursue, the things I cannot change.  I am thankful for family and friends, both here and far away.  I am grateful for each day, every minute I have.

Throughout this year, God has been good.  He has been faithful.  Every day.  In the good times, the bad times, the hard times, the easy times.  In leaving everything I knew behind, in going somewhere where I knew nothing, no one.  In traveling to two new countries, learning, serving, my heart breaking for the children I held, knowing I could not do anything but hold them, play with them in the time they have.  In the things I cannot change, the things I wish I could, He is still God.  And He is good.

I don’t know what lies ahead, for me or for you.  All of what happened in 2012 is now behind us.  We can learn from it, remember it, but we cannot live in it.  Now, I look to what is to come – the unforseen, the unexpected, the unintentional, the seen, the known, the heard, the unheard, the expected, the intentional – and I intend to face it with faith and trust in my Lord, looking to Him for strength, direction, to learn from Him, to be His feet, His hands, His light in this broken and hurting world.  Wherever this year may take me, whether to Poland, China, Hong Kong, Massachusetts, Indiana, Ohio, or Michigan, I want to be used for Him and His purpose.  In a hospital, in a lab, in a classroom, in my apartment, in my church, in my relationships with others, I want to be different, set apart.

My challenge is this: Hold me to it, and do it with me.  Let’s make this year different, looking to God in everything, thanking him for life each day, and living as a people set apart.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.

 

“Good To Be Alive”, Jason Grace

Hold on
Is this really the life I’m living?
Cause I don’t feel like I deserve it
Every day that I wake, every breath that I take you’ve given
So right here, right now
While the sun is shining down

I wanna live like there’s no tomorrow
Love like I’m on borrowed time
It’s good to be alive, yeah

Hold on
If the life that we’ve been given
Is made beautiful in the living
And the joy that we get brings joy to the heart of the giver
Then right here, right now
This is the song I’m singing out

I wanna live like there’s no tomorrow
Love like I’m on borrowed time
It’s good to be alive
[x2]

I won’t take it for granted
I won’t waste another second
All I want is to give you
A life well lived, to say “thank you”

I wanna live like there’s no tomorrow
Love like I’m on borrowed time
It’s good to be, it’s good to be alive

I wanna live like there’s no tomorrow
Love like I’m on borrowed time
It’s good to be alive

I won’t take it for granted
I won’t waste another second
All I want is to give you
A life well lived, to say “thank you”