All Growed Up

I was a strong-willed toddler who insisted on being called "The Babe." Not sure how well that would go over now, but I enjoyed two years and nine months of being The Babe until Sally came along.

I'm the one on the left, trying to get everyone to look at me. Sally's on the right, drooling and sporting boy hair. Becky, in the middle, is taking it all in stride. She'd already been dethroned three babies ago.

When my new little sister came home from the hospital, I noted forlornly, "I used to be the baby, but now I growed up." The adjustment was difficult for me, and no wonder - twenty-something years later I still don't like being nudged out of the center of attention. I just hide it better.

Growing up hasn't grown on me. I still think of myself as a kid, and most days I have no desire for that to change. I don't suppose there's any getting around it - although this poem nearly had me fooled:

When I was One, I had just begun.
When I was Two, I was nearly new.
When I was Three I was hardly me.
When I was Four, I was not much more.
When I was Five, I was just alive.
But now I am Six, I'm as clever as clever,
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.
- A. A. Milne

Maybe six is the golden age, the narrow window of opportunity in which, if you set your mind to it, you can stay the same age forever and ever. I missed my chance. No doubt I was so relieved to make it to six (having been informed all my life that five-year-old girls are for eating) that I completely forgot and focused my energies on making it to seven.

Some days I'd just as soon be six, confident in my cleverness. (I'm far more clever now but unblissfully aware that there's a lot more cleverness to be attained.) Or I could be three and my mom could style my hair in looped-up braids to keep me from sticking it in my nose. (Sometimes it's nice having no other option than to do the right thing.) Or I could be ten and when I say the wrong thing people would laugh and think I'm cute instead of getting mad and thinking I'm insensitive.

All that to say, being a grown-up is not all it's cracked up to be.

Today's run...

...was preceded by a lovely game of football. Yes, I called it "lovely," because that's how I feel when a crisp autumn day is followed by a tussle with the ol' pigskin. There was one other girl playing, and she runs faster and catches better than I do, but I was definitely the best at yelling and falling down.

I am, in fact, so hardcore that I ran 2.5 miles afterwards.

Then I rewarded myself with a mint brownie from Sharon. It was so good that if Sharon were to write a blog devoted to mint brownies, I would link to it right now.

Quote of the Day

It was too cold to go out
It was too wet to play
So we both sat inside
On that cold, cold wet day.

-The Cat in the Hat, by Dr. Seuss

It's been raining all week.

Happiness is...

...neighbors who don't password-protect their wireless.

On Community

The other night I was planning to post some thoughts about community. But community happened instead.

I've been learning a lot about community lately because I've been in transition. For about a year now the dream of having My Own Place has never been far from my mind. Last week the dream became reality - but at the last minute, I almost bailed.

When I left home nine years ago I moved into what you could call an "intentional community." I don't like that phrase because it's redundant. You can share space and meals and responsibilities, even pray together, but you cannot have real community without being intentional. Anyway, it's been a joy and until recently I had hardly considered living any other way. But this past year it's become obvious to me that I'm [gasp] not nineteen anymore and that having a bit more space to call my own could be a good and healthy thing. My Own Place became an ever-intensifying desire.

So last week I made a bold move of independence and faith and rented an apartment a whole mile away from the house where I've lived and worked with our ministry staff. The process of buying dishes and tea towels, shoving my stuff in my car, and moving in was exciting, until it hit me: wait a minute! I hate being alone!

I mean, I really hate it. I have been called a great many things in my life, but "introvert" is definitely not one of them. My Own Place morphed to My Lonely Place as I began to feel isolated and alone before I'd spent a single night at the apartment.

One thing I've learned over the past few years: when overwhelmed by feelings of isolation, seek out community! So I called my roomies together - you know, all the girls whose house I'd been dreaming of moving out of - and asked for prayer, which they graciously provided. Over the next couple of days I began seeking input from others and praying like crazy.

It was a good process. It forced me to recognize that the idea of My Own Place had become a refuge for me over the past year. A reality check told me that Christ alone is my hope, and shelf space and my own bathroom and food that hasn't been labeled with a Sharpie are not rights to be demanded. I also had to confront my fear of being left high and dry financially. When it finally came down to it, I felt that it was still the right thing to move in and hesitantly did so.

I couldn't have moved out of "community" without the help of my community. Whether they were carrying heavy things or encouraging me when I didn't know what to do or coming over to hang out to help ease the transition, I needed these people, and they were there.

I love how God designed us to need one another. It's really his mercy, isn't it? Independence won't just keep us from meaningful friendships - it will keep us from the cross. Community reminds me that I could never be ok on my own - and by the grace of God, I don't have to be.

The funny thing is that I've been far more intentional about community since I moved out of it. My time with people has been focused - not just sitting in the same room hiding behind my computer or iPhone (the Internet should only enhance real-life community, not replace it). I'm increasingly aware of how much our lives were meant to be shared.

So the other night, when two of the staff girls dropped by (no doubt to keep me from feeling lonely), and then one of my former students arrived as they were leaving, I had no complaints about my post on community being delayed. As my second visitor and I shared a good old-fashioned heart-to-heart on my couch, I thought to myself, "This is what it's all about."

Today's run...

...was cut short after about 1.2 miles in the rain. My goal for the fall has been to never quit a run without meeting my goal for that day. So today I failed in both goals. Never mind the stitch in my side! But there's always tomorrow. I will not go quietly into the night.

Today's run...

...was a study in mind over matter. Two sluggish miles managed to pass beneath my tennies while I cursed the chili I ate for lunch.

One great motivator: the new-to-me dress I tried on this afternoon that would have looked a lot better on last year's BMI. Oh, and also the knowledge that healthy choices honor my Creator.

One great demotivator: the overweight power-walker in the "Mom" T-shirt, huffing and puffing along in the opposite direction, who kept passing me at roughly the same place on the loop - meaning that my run was about the speed of her walk.

Happiness is...

...a Saturday and a book.

Today's run...

...happened.

That's about all that can be said about my 1.5 mile jog, at no particular pace, this evening. It happened. Still, that's more than can be said of most of my runs this year. Despite a tight schedule on a muggy evening, despite inhaling a bit of gravel, despite a few guys that probably weren't creepy (but I'm awfully creepable), today's run happened.

And if I boast*...er...blog about it, there's a greater chance that it will keep happening.

*Please disregard yesterday's post about all the good things I accomplish being like filthy rags or clanging gongs or whatever.

Odds and Ends

This morning I woke up feeling disappointed. Perhaps I should say that I woke up feeling like a disappointment, as the only thing I was disappointed in was myself. Some days are like that - that cloud, that vague sense that I'm not quite ok, that there's something I ought to be doing better or more or differently.

Underneath it all, of course, is the fear that I've disappointed God somehow. The "ought to's" pile up and point the finger. Thank goodness for the Gospel! I grasped for it this morning, while still lying in bed condemning myself for not getting up yet: His love for me has never depended on my good behavior. I am not defined by my unmet ought to's.

And so I had a pretty good day, with a list of small accomplishments. I made productive choices at work. I finally ran a mile after too many months of sporadic exercise. I ate lots of vegetables. I got a library card. I cheered for my friends' softball team. I wrote a long-overdue e-mail to a heart-friend.

Thank goodness once again for the Gospel, which shows up to remind me that I'm nothing on my own. It reveals the castle I thought I was building to be nothing more than a dollhouse, clumsy and crude at best. And that's ok. If I find my worth in what I do, I'll always let myself down eventually. I can't accomplish a thing without His grace. End-of-the-day self-satisfaction leads only to early-morning self-disappointment.

Thank goodness for the Gospel. Thank goodness for my Jesus.