O Hope of Israel, our Savior in times of trouble! … You are right here among us, LORD. Jeremiah 14:8

I wait quietly before God,

For my hope is in Him.

Psalm 62:5

We also rejoice in our sufferings because we know that…

hope does not disappoint us.

Romans 5:3-5

The Meaning of the Name:

Perhaps the best way to understand hope is to define its opposite—

Hopeless:

Desperate… incapable of solution,

Impossible… having no expectation of good or success,

Despairing…not susceptible to remedy or cure,

Incapable of redemption.

(Webster’s)

I have been in that place of hopelessness, teetered on the edge of the dark.  My cries echoing, mocking, falling far on the rocks below. I know the fear there, that terror-filled sense of slipping with no one to grab onto.

The acrid stench of failing faith.

My story isn’t pretty…

Nurtured in a fairytale-perfect childhood, I danced into my twenties with all the arrogance of one born to royalty.

Daddy’s little princess, Mama’s pretty doll.

The dainty little do-good girl all wrapped in adoration.

Life was good. It should be good, after all, I was good!

In my good life no one ever got really sick, no one died, and no one dared do naughty things. Because we were good.

And I put a whole lot of hope in all that good.

But the day the doctor told me he couldn’t give me a pill to fix my muffled ears… and all those faith-filled prayers came crashing back… and the D-word invaded my good little world— that’s when the dark crept in.

Deafness is definitely not good.

And so I wailed and cried and raved and fussed and fought against the not good thing—

And it got worse, much worse. Until my soul was surrounded by the dark.

Smothering despair. Nothing.

And that’s when He came, this Miqweh Yisrael.

The Hope of Israel.

The hope of me.

On a blustery Sunday night in the backroom of a little church in Santa Cruz, a half dozen or so of my friends— elders, wise men— dabbed the tips of their fingers with a bit of grocery store olive oil, placed their hands on my head, and began to pray. Oh how these men prayed! They laughed out loud and cried without shame and entreated God to touch my ears. To heal me. To make it all good again.

And God said no.

And in God’s no I heard all the hope of forever.

It’s okay, Di, it’s okay.

And in that moment and every moment of twenty years since, it’s been okay.

Even good.

Somehow, in a way I cannot understand or explain or describe, this Miqweh Yisrael has opened my ears to hear His voice.

To hear Him.

Everyday for years and years, as my hearing faded into deafness, He has welcomed me— the not-good-girl who raged and rebelled and failed. And everyday for years and years I have listened. And laughed. And I sing my tuneless song and I think He laughs a little too. A deaf girl singing is definitely not good!

And you?

Do you sing a tuneless song of hope to the One who makes a bad thing good?

Are you waiting to see?

To hear?

Will you let Him be who He is to you- will you let Him be your hope?

From my heart,

Diane

Some favorites of mine…

Isaiah 40:31

Hebrews 6:19

Job 13:15

Psalm 31:24; 33:17; 38:15; 42:5,11; 62:5; 71:5

Once upon a time I met a man.

He was tall and lean with impossibly long arms that reached all the world in to the circle of his strength. Almond blue eyes beckoned and flashed. A smattering of freckles and a tousle of unruly hair hinted at the boy inside all that convincing conviction that drew others in like bees to honey.

The man emanated intensity.

For a long time I watched that man from far away. Others talked and I listened— leaned in close to hear the man speak. Those first words caught me, drawing me in, inviting me to linger.

In that man I heard a heart beat for God.

Every week the man taught and I, caught in the crowd around him, absorbed the truths he spoke. With greatest care he opened his enormous Bible, flipping pages, leaning forward, compelling us— me to come close, to jump in, to believe.

And we did.

And I did.

And he pulled us in to the One who had rescued him, showing us how to live in a way that honored that Redeemer. Tirelessly he taught us about Jesus, painting a picture of life lived in absolute surrender. A compelling life of purity and passion and purpose.

And all of us fell in love with that Savior of his…

And I fell in love with him.

Shy as I was, it took a long time to dare to let him know. How could I ever hope that one such as he would possibly look my way?

But he did.

Once, twice… a question… a lingering… a hint of maybe.

And so I practiced that secret art every woman knows. Subtle and soft but with all the determination of a tigress on the prowl, I skirted around the edges of his world and invited him into mine.

And he came.

When he talked I listened and I heard and I said it back… and something happened. Something magical and mystical and just a little strange.

Because he heard too.

All the words I couldn’t say. All the thoughts I wouldn’t speak.

He heard— me.

And for thirty-three years we have danced and circled and held onto the hope of forever.

There are three things that amaze me—

no, four things I do not understand:

how an eagles glides through the sky,

how a snake slithers on a rock,

how a ship navigates the ocean,

how a man loves a woman.

Proverbs 30:18,19

This mystery is great…

Ephesians 5:32

Happy Anniversary, my love.

From my heart,

Di

Never abandon a friend…[1] faithful are the wounds of a friend…[2]

the heartfelt counsel of a friend is as sweet as perfume and incense…[3]

a friend loves at all times…[4]

there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother…[5]

I say to you My friends… Luke 12:4

The Meaning of the Name:

Perhaps the most astounding name Jesus pinned on His chest is this one: friend.

Creator we can admire.

Holy One we can revere.

The Provider we can appreciate.

But friend? This is a name that calls us close.

In the Greek, this name has its roots in one of the most commonly used words for love in the New Testament. It refers to the kind of love that does rather than feels. A friend does certain things, which then identify him or her as a friend- a real friend.

I am not very good at friendship. All that calling and lunch-going and being involved in another’s life wears hard on me. A raging introvert, I love being alone to think and ponder and study and putter through life. It is the rare day that I wake up wanting to go do something fun with a friend.

Needless to say, anyone who wants to be my friend (and why in the world would they?!) has got to be thick skinned and diligently determined. Yet in spite of all my friendship failures, through the years God has gifted me with a handful of women willing to brave my reticence. They are true treasures— pictures of the Father’s undeserved grace for me to witness first hand.

By demonstrating friendship towards a reluctant friend, these brave few have shown me four specific aspects of Jesus’ friendship towards us in the everyday-ness of life.

First of all, my friends…

Not only accept me as I am, but value the uniqueness of how God made me.

As does He. He is the One who formed me while I was still a mass of cells in my mother’s womb (Psalm 139). He gets me and He likes me even when I’m not so sure what it is He sees to like.

On the other hand, these faithful women…

Gently push me to be more.

They’ve not allowed me to excuse myself or settle into a worn out rut. They actively manipulate and cajole me to get out and play a little. Browsing vintage shops and dusty bookstores—places I relish but rarely treat myself to.

…pray for me and let me know it.

One of my friends, Becky, has this uncanny knowing—sort of a mystical mental telepathy that lets her know just when I need her prayers. And so she’ll text and tweet and leave me notes on Facebook to try to hunt me out of my reclusive cave in order to let me know she knows…

…don’t demand a lot of attention from me.

Instead, they really do understand that my life is pulled in a million different directions and that I’m doing the best I can to juggle all the hats I’m supposed to wear. I feel enough with them.

Are you beginning to see what I mean? How these rare treasures demonstrate in real time the friendship God offers?

Then there’s this almost-but-not-quite funny story found in John chapter 21…

Peter was depressed and grouchy , no doubt racked with guilt for his failure to follow Jesus through the worst moments of His life. So he did that macho-man thing and declared, “I’m going fishing!” (John 21:3) Despite his moodiness, a few of the other former followers of Jesus decided to go too. They were a motley crew: Thomas (we know him as the beligerant doubter of the rumors of the resurrection), Nathaniel (the guy “without guile”- sort of an outspoken-no-niceties sort), the sons of Zebedee (otherwise nicknamed “sons of thunder” for their volatile tempers), and a couple of unnamed fellows. Not exactly a bunch of happy campers!

None-the-less, they all jumped in the boat to try their luck at a night of fishing. And they caught… nothing.

Can you imagine the mood in the boat that night?

As their spirits sagged and the sun came up, they noticed a familiar figure standing on the beach. Could it be? Squinting to see in the dim dawn light, each man holding his breath in fear of having their hopes dashed once again…

“Friends, have you caught any fish?”

Friends? Was He serious? These guys make my half-hearted attempts at friendship look heroic. Yet Jesus chose to gather those guys close to His heart and be their friend.

How astounding is that?

Are you feeling rotten about yourself? Inadequate, unlovable, rejected too many times to show the real you?

Performing and pretending, trying to play nice but knowing it’s not enough?

Try opening your heart and mind to the friendship Jesus offers.

He relishes the way you’re wired up. Raging introvert, bouncing extrovert, ponderous thinker or rushing do-er, He likes you!

What’s more, He thinks you can be more of who you were meant to be and He’ll lend you a hand to get there. He’s got adventures planned beyond your own self-limiting fears.

And He’ll pour all of Himself into you, filling you with all His goodness and kindness and patience and a whole list of qualities you’ll never attain on your own. Just being with this Friend rubs holiness off on you!

But there’s more, right off my list— Jesus is sitting right this moment all cozied up to the Father and the Spirit, praying for you. Always. Whether you’re being good or sneaking around in sin, He’s watching and praying. He was praying for the grumpy guys on the boat who had abandoned Him when things got too hard, and He is praying for you too. Always.

And that, my friends, is the God who dares to call Himself PHILOS.

From my heart,

Diane

For another astounding story that highlights this Name, read Luke 11:5-11

---

[1] Proverbs 27:10

[2] Proverbs 27:6

[3] Proverbs 27:9

[4] Proverbs 17:17

[5] Proverbs 18:24

The Lord will accomplish what concerns me… Psalm 138:8

I worried as I tossed and turned all last night.

A running dialogue of what if’s and must-do’s galloped behind my closed eyelids, robbing me of rest and leaving my bed a rumpled mash of misbegotten bed sheets.

It was a relief to wake up!

Rolling out of that wrestling ring of worry, I reached for two ibuprofen to ease the aches and pains my buffeted body bore, padded down to the kitchen to make my morning tea, lit a candle or two to chase away the sodden gloom~ and drank in the healing Words of God.

Comfort…

Assurance…

Control. (His, not mine!)

Soon my weariness lifted as I poured out my petty worries to God.  Like a child, I showed Him my “owies”.  Nothing earth shattering or even heart breaking.  Just daily stuff, and my usual- “How will I get it all done?”  My self-imposed standards of perfection chasing joy and peace right out of my day.  He reminded me, with the patience that makes me love Him all the more, of a few lessons already taught, if not yet fully learned.  I’ll pass some of those on to you, in case you’re popping a few aspirins of your own…

1. Don’t cram too much into one day. Specifically, don’t crowd too many different categories of tasks into one day.  Looking back at His plan for creating the World (a bit bigger than my burdens today!), in Genesis chapter one, each day took on a logical, well thought through order.  First, light, then the skies, then land on which to grow food, then seasons…you see the idea? He had a plan. My frantic hurrying from thing to thing leaves me exhausted, discombobulated (I love that word!), dingy, and out-of-sorts.  No wonder my head aches!
2. Acknowledge what you have done. Again, in Genesis one, at the end of each and every day He looked back over His accomplishments and relished the completed creativity of His work. A simple notebook will do the job.  Set it beside your bed and take a few minutes each night to list the things you did accomplish that day.  Come on, write it down! You’ll be surprised how much you did on a day when you “didn’t get anything done”.
3. Remember who is in control. (hint, hint: not you!) If only I could get this one through my thick head!  I am not in charge.  I have abandoned my life to God and told Him in all sincerity that I want Him to control everything, everyone, every circumstance, every detail of my life.  But He’s not so neat and tidy.  He does things differently than I do.  And He doesn’t usually tell me why!  (read Psalm 138:8)
4. He has a plan and purpose for me. This is one of the most exhilarating, energizing truths to ever grip me.  The fact that He has specific tasks for me to accomplish, assigned tasks just for me…wow!  I read once that giving your kids chores to do around the house enhances their self-esteem.  So I did.  Lots of chores.  They were the most self-esteemed kids on the block.  And now I have a chore list from the Father…because He thinks I’m the one to do it.  Every time I think about that, I sit up a little straighter, clear my desk, and get to work. (read Ephesians 2:10)

…and moms, remember that your tasks have names…

From my heart,

Diane

“Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine.

When you go through deep waters and great trouble,

I will be with you.

When you go through rivers of difficulty,

you will not drown!

When you walk through the fire of oppression,

You will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you.

For I am the LORD, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

Isaiah 43:1-3 NLT

The meaning of His name:

Just a few days ago I got that phone call no one wants.

Someone I love is dying.

As my knees buckled beneath me and I sank into a kitchen chair, all the weight of the world seemed bent to crush my heart. NO! Not yet, I need him.

I want him to live forever!

And even though I know he will, I want him here- with me, just a phone call away. I want his strength and the years of stories and his wisdom and all that balance he brings. I want him.

And so I asked questions… and I wanted to pretend… and I hoped the doctors got it wrong… and I looked up every little tidbit of information to be sure— and it is.

I am going to lose this one I love way sooner than I’d ever dreamed.

And nothing takes away the pain.

Except Someone. This One who calls Himself the Holy One of Israel.

A strange name, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever grasped it until now, the meaning of this name. Always before, Holy One, sounded sort of far off and distant— and more than a little frightening.

In the midst of this beautiful soliloquy about His ransoming us and rescuing us and being with us and calling us His own, He highlights this name as if somehow I’d be not frightened, but assured by it.

Why in the world would He tag Himself with such a title here? Am I missing something?

Am I missing who He is?

Opening my study books in order to search for that missing something that fogs my understanding, I discover more. For one thing, the prophet Isaiah loved this particular title for God. He used this name over and over again as he wrote to warn his people about the perils of turning in their time of need to other gods.

He didn’t camp out on how nice God is or how much compassion He shows— instead, he warned them away from their default sins by calling attention to God’s extreme holiness.

He urges us to listen carefully in the midst of the thunderous cacophony of suffering. To pay close attention when that phone call comes. I hear Him warning me to turn away from anything and everyone who might distract me from His beauty.

In the midst of my pain He wants me to absorb myself in who He is.

Just a few paragraphs later, Isaiah wrote:

“The LORD,

your Redeemer,

the Holy One of Israel, says:

I am the LORD your God,

who teaches you what is good and

leads you along the paths you should follow.

Oh that you had listened to my commands!

Then you would have had peace flowing like a gentle river and

righteousness rolling like waves.”

Is 48:17

And so I find that …

I have stumbled onto the only path to peace in the midst of turmoil.

This peace has nothing to do with pretending away the pain, nor is it found in a prescription meant to make me not feel so much. It does not involve 5 steps to pull myself out of awfulness. In fact, this way I have found has nothing to do with escape.

And it has everything to do with who God is.

Quedosh Yisrael… Holy One of Israel… and of me… and of you.

It is the holiness of the God I have given my life to that makes me not afraid of all that life throws my way.

In those deep waters and great troubles He will be with me. When difficulties overwhelm and oppression rages and people die before we’re ready— He promises His presence.

And because He is holy He will speak to me and lead me and whisper my name in the dark.

I am still grieving—still wishing this one I love would linger longer than it seems he will.

Everyday I weep for what will not be.

But the peace that holds my heart still is all wrapped up in this One who knows and weeps along with me.

And that’s enough.

From my heart,

Diane

I’d been cleaning out cupboards and tidying up files and finding things I didn’t know I had— pictures and poems, old papers, photos of days gone by.

Treasures.

Then I found this-

a prayer, a cry to God to help me know how to do this thing He’d called me to,

this role called mom.

Strewn with Tears

The way to church this morning was strewn with harsh words, impatient gestures, and hastily wiped tears.

Oh, those tears!

They broke through my angry heart, pointing a convicting finger straight at me.

I had caused those tears.

I had trampled the tender feelings.

In my rush to leave my home in perfect order I had created chaos.

“The wise woman builds her house, but the foolish tears it down with her own hands.”

O Lord, build my house.

Speak to me, remind me that I serve You best by carefully, tenderly nurturing the souls of my precious children.

Stop me in my tracks when I get off track— before the tears.

From my heart,

Diane

Rise up, O Judge of the earth! Psalm 94:2

NIV

Therefore the LORD longs to be gracious to you,

And therefore He waits on high to have compassion on you.

For the LORD is a God of justice;

How blessed are all those who long for Him.

Isaiah 30:18

NASB

The Meaning of His Name:

This is not God’s most popular name. Not by a long shot. In fact, this is a name that sends shudders up our backs— we cringe a little every time we’re faced with this aspect of who He is.

After all, who likes a judge? He’s that stern visaged man behind the dias who wears a black robe. His pronouncements are permanent. He holds in his hands the power to alter the course of your life, to lock you away from all you long for, to forfeit your freedom.

Not exactly someone you’d want to cozy up to.

But I have a friend who is a judge, and he’s not like that at all. In fact, he’s been called the Crying Judge because his heart weeps with sorrow every time he stares a defendant in the face. Tom spends his days designing discipline for men and women who stand before him convicted of substance abuse. And it breaks his heart.

You see, Tom’s own daughter once struggled and lost against the pull of the dark powers of drugs. And in every face, Tom glimpses his little girl, once so full of future hopes, now lying in a coffin under the earth, the victim of her own mistakes.

No wonder this judge cries.

And God cries too. Longing to give to you and to me a life full of joys, a life living in close connection with His heart, but we push away like Tom’s daughter did.

We want what we want and we want it right now… and sometimes we’ll do whatever we want to get it.

And He weeps for us.

But God does more than weep. He acts. This Hebrew word shophet holds rich and varied meaning. In the verb form, shapat means to decide, to defend, to deliver, and to discipline.

That’s the kind of judge God is.

He decides… “judgement will again be founded on righteousness and all the upright in heart will follow it.” Psalm 94:15

Are you, am I, one of those “upright in heart” who will follow His ways? Will you give Him the right to decide how your story is written? Or will you fight Him all the way, wrestling willfully out of His grasp?  His will or yours? Which will it be?

He defends… “ There is now therefore no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Romans 8:1

Can you feel the strength of His love? He knows your heart, He sees your struggles. While others may sum you up as a colossal failure, He cheers you on. Just like Judge Tom turns his entire courtroom into a platform for encouraging and applauding anyone who takes the tiniest step towards progress, God puts His arms around you and protects you from condemnation.

He delivers… “Thou doest hide them in the secret place from the conspiracies of man; Thou doest keep them secretly in a shelter from the strife of tongues.” Psalm 32:20

David cried out to God when his heart blistered in the heat of people’s hatred for him. And God heard, tucking him “secretly in a shelter” where he would find rest to recover.

He disciplines… “Those whom the LORD loves, He disciplines…” Hebrews 12:6

Out of His intense love for you, God is willing to do whatever it takes to protect you from yourself. Like a loving father, He corrects us in order to bring us close, where the joy is— where we belong.

Do you get it now?

How His being Shophet flows out of a heart so full of love that He will not let us go?

Why He pushes you to stay with His story rather than try to make up one of your own?

Can you sense His tears when you pull away?

From my heart,

Diane

Psalm 94- read the whole story

Hebrews 12- this is your Father

Psalm 96:10-13- why we worship

Isaiah 30:18- His longing for you

Matthew 18: 21-35 see how seriously the Judge takes forgiveness

Has the post-race euphoria worn off yet or are you still basking in the glow of mission accomplished? It was wonderful to meet many of you on race day, pray together, race together, and celebrate together.  I’m so proud of each one of you. You did it!

A big thank you to Diane Comer for casting the vision of Not Your Own and to Elizabeth Mosser for all the behind-the-scenes formatting work she put into each post.  Thank you to each of you who volunteered at packet pick up, to Monica and Brian Albaugh for transporting and setting up our tent, and to each of our family members who volunteered on race day.  We appreciate all your extra effort.

Tricia Ball, one of our Not Your Own half-marathoners, blessed me with a hand-stamped silver necklace that says “Not Your Own.”  She is making them available for sale to our group at a reduced price of $20 per necklace.  If you would like a daily reminder that you are Not Your Own, visit Tricia’s Etsy store to place your order.

Thank you to each of you who took the time to write out your story.  It’s been like Christmas this week at my house as I opened each of your emails and read with joy the work God has begun in your lives.  We have some pretty incredible sisters in this family!  Young and old, experienced and novice, runners and walkers…  our Not Your Own group was diverse but united around a central theme of honoring God with our bodies.  God took our desire to honor Him and wrote beautiful and diverse stories in the hearts of each woman.  Listen to just how creative our God is.

•••••

Remember Melinda my friend in Canada?  The day before our race she received word that her cancer has spread.  In her words, “Though it has spread to more lymph nodes it is still fairly localized and I’m not dying from it yet - just inconvenienced by it for another year at least.  Tomorrow I am running at 8 a.m.  I’m going to be praying lots.  Praising Him for the positive results and the not so positive ones. By His grace and for His glory – run, walk or crawl.  It’s going to happen because I am Not My Own.”  Melinda ran the entire 10k by herself in the wood of British Columbia.  “It was a battle, but I did it!” she said. “I prayed the whole time.  God gave me a song in my head and I kept picturing all of you ladies running beside me.  I ended up beating my best time ever by 40 seconds.  Praise the Lord!”

•••••

Elizabeth, a middle-aged momma who wanted to be healthy enough to keep up with her boys originally set out to run the half-marathon.  As she began to train, she realized her schedule and her body would not accommodate a safe half-marathon and she was forced to adjust her goal to walk the 10k.  “God knew exactly what I could do because I am Not My Own.  My walk/run training the past three months was a challenge for me.  I kept to it.  It did not yield a half marathon. God knows me.  He knew what I could do.  He sent me not one but two angels.  One angel named Rachael to train with and one angel named Kelsey to do the race with.”

•••••

Tanya and Trisha took comfort and encouragement in walking the entire race together.  It was a first for Tricia and she finished faster than her goal time, recovered quickly, and enjoyed it more than she expected.  “The Not Your Own was an answer to prayer,” Tricia said. “God used it to get me up and moving but more importantly, to change my heart. Thank for the reminder that we are not our own, bought at a price and worth so much more.”

Tanya said, “The verse I got on race day in my email was Romans 12:5 NLT.  It says, ‘…so it is with Christ’s body.  We are many parts of one body, and we all belong to each other.’ Not only do we each belong to God, but to each other too! Seems like we did a great job of exemplifying this today – encouraging each other and serving each other to do great things. Kind of fitting, no?”

•••••

Bob was not a part of our group.  He probably doesn’t even know Solid Rock exists, but he sent this email to the race coordinator and she forwarded it to me.  He said, “As I was completing the Helvetia half marathon, I suffered a severe leg cramp when I entered the finishing chute.  I couldn’t stand so I sat down and tried to straighten my leg.  Some lady came to help me stretch and relieved the cramp.  She helped me up and I was able to get across the finish line.  In my rush to finish, I’m not sure I thanked this lady for her help. She was with a group of women who were gathered just to the left of the finishing chute.  I’m old and slow, but I love this race and plan to participate as long as I can.  Perhaps you might know of this group and could let them know how much I appreciate this lady’s help.”   That was our tent ladies and most likely one of you who helped Bob.  How cool is that?

•••••

Crissy has me to blame for roping her into Not Your Own.  She lives in Newberg and we became friends through a Christian-based moms group.  She said, ”My husband says I’m an athlete now since I ran in my first 10k race last weekend, but that wasn’t my goal with I committed to training for this event three months ago.  Jodi’s simple call to action on Facebook caught my attention.  ‘C’mon ladies.  Who’s going to join me?’  The Bible passage she included is what held my attention, ‘You are not your own; you were bought at a price.  Therefore honor God with your body.’  (I Cor. 6:19-20)

I’m in, I thought.  Then I typed it.  Then I went on to read what I was in on.  I was going to run a race? I was excited and a little nervous because I didn’t know what to do first.  The word training hadn’t entered my head yet.  I just knew I had to ‘practice’ running.  I ran the first few weeks in my Crocs until Jodi told me I better go get a pair of running shoes fast!

As I ran more and was able to think less about the mechanics of what I was doing, I began to realize running really cleared my mind.  I was inspired by Jodi to keep my mind quiet and listen to what God might have to say to me.  Each time I tied on my new running shoes, God showed me something new.    Some of these things may seem small, but they were important to me.  I learned:

1. To obey. God said, ‘Just do this and watch what happens,’ so I did.
2. To be humble. God wanted me to see that I don’t always have to contribute some of my creative ideas to accomplish a goal.  I didn’t have to make this more complicated than it was.  God said, ‘Just go run.  Run more and more and more each time until you reach the goal.  I designed your body and it can run.  You can do this.  Trust me.”
3. There is treasure to be found in routine. Many of the things I do are very cyclical (laundry, dishes, washing the kids’ faces) and as soon as I finish them, they need to be done again.  While I was running one day, I realized I would have to keep running again and again if I wanted to stay in shape.  In that moment God shed light on the truth that all of these routines are actually His glorious design.  None of these things are just getting in the way and taking time from other things I could be enjoying.  These are things to be enjoyed.

This is probably the most important truth I learned while running, and I don’t think I could have clearly understood it amidst a pile of laundry or a load of dishes. It helped me to understand that anything I do can and should be done for the glory of God.  Now I can say I run for the glory of God!

•••••

The Albaugh family touched not just the people who know their story but also fellow runners on the course.  Brian and Monica’s son Jaron was born with Miller-Dieker syndrome.  He wasn’t expected to live to see his first birthday that he celebrated in March of this year.  Isn’t God good?  Jaron’s nickname is Turtle Man based on a picture of him smiling at two weeks old.  According to his mom, “his amazing life has transformed each of our lives over the course of the last year.  He is our little glimpse of heaven, here on earth.”

Monica writes, “When I started this journey, I had a good 40 pounds to lose, half of which I’m still working on.  A few years ago I decided to do something about my weight.  It took actually losing weight for me to realize my relationship with food and being inactive was actually sin I was clinging to.  I used food to bring me joy, to comfort me when I was stressed, frustrated, or just plain bored. I chose not to view my body from God’s perspective. He created our bodies to be his temple, a sacred place where His Spirit dwells.  I did not have the respect for my body that God had and I definitely was not honoring Him with my body.  Challenged by Diane’s call to live out I Corinthians 6:20 and encouraged by Jodi’s words of running wisdom, I embarked on a mission to train for and finish the Helvetia Half Marathon.

I really wanted my whole family (dad, mom, brothers and sisters) to do this with me.  I began asking them to join me on this ‘mission impossible’ and one-by-nervous-one, they said YES!  We got all the gear we needed for running.  We stayed connected by group messages on Facebook and ran long runs together when we could.  We even gathered for a family birthday in Tacoma and ran ten miles along a golf course.  We were really doing this!

Brian and I had talked about getting shirts made since there were seven of us running together to identify ourselves as a group.  We chose a turtle for the front to honor Jaron and used Hebrews 12:1 as our theme verse on the back.  ‘Let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us/’ I only wish we would have added, ‘And all God’s children said, ________”’because I had at least 30 runners who commented on my verse while running the race.

Race day came.  We all showed up, stretched, drank water, prayed, ran, walked, huffed, puffed, prayed some more, ached, groaned… but all seven of us finished!!!!!  A few of us beat our training pace.  Some were just thrilled to cross the finish line still alive. We were all amazed and thankful to complete what we started – TOGETHER.”

•••••

Tiffany said, “The morning of the race I was nervous, excited and a bit scared.  I flipped open my devotional just as I do every morning and it was based on I Peter 5:7, ‘Cast all your anxieties on Him because He cares for you.’ All I could do was say, ‘Thank you Lord for reminding me why I am doing this today.’

I knew this race would be tough.  I’m not in as good of shape as I was two years ago when I first got into running, but I had a completely different outlook on why I was running and why I wanted to finish the race.  When I got to the Solid Rock tent I put the ‘Not Your Own’ bracelet on my right arm.  On my left forearm above my watch, I wrote the verse from my devotional in bright red.  I knew while I was out on the course I would need continual reminders that I am Not My Own and that I needed to cast my anxieties on Him.

Throughout the race I was running behind or in front of Elizabeth.  We made the last turn on the road to the stadium and I started to pass her but I felt the Lord tell me to use the little bit of energy I had left to pull her along.  We ran the last ¼ mile together and it was an awesome way to end. Two years ago I may have been in better physical shape and run a bit faster, but I know that the condition of my spirit and my relationship with Christ is so much stronger and tougher that I wouldn’t go back to who I was then for anything!”

•••••

Rachael ran the half-marathon at Helvetia, her first.  In preparation for the race, she started running with two different women.  “I loved my runs with Ashley because we chose a new place to run each time we went out.  It was always an adventure and it gave us time to share with each other how God was moving in our lives.    Elizabeth and I ran a 2.5 mile loop each week, rain or shine.  As we ran, I would chuckle as she told me stories about her kids, listen intently as she gave me Godly advice and wisdom, and smile with appreciation as she encouraged me.  My goals for the Helvetia half marathon were: (1) Don’t stop running.  Walking is not an option.  (2) Don’t come in last place.  (3) Finish!”

Rachael injured her hamstring during her training and came to the stadium on race day feeling undertrained and really nervous.  Ashley was walking the half-marathon and Elizabeth was running the 10k, so she was on her own for the duration of the race.  The first 8 miles passed uneventfully, and then Rachael got distracted.  “Something was wrong with my right sock, my left ankle and knee were bugging me, the inside of my legs were rubbing, my race shorts were too big and not fitting right, and a thought I quickly had to surrender was, ‘No one is going to be there to greet me at the finish line.’ Through all the distractions I kept reminding myself that I am Not My Own, that I was bought at a price and that the Lord is my strength and he has given me victory. (Exodus 15:2)  By mile thirteen I had nothing left in me and was not able to sprint to the finish line.  As I rounded the corner to run onto the field, I heard, ‘Ah!  There’s Rachael!’  Two smiling faces, Kelsey and Elizabeth, were there waiting for me and cheering me on. I don’t know how long Kelsey and Elizabeth had to wait for me, but that act of love still brings tears to my eyes. Days later, I still have achy knees but I also have an appreciation for new and old friends and a thankfulness that I am Not My Own.”

•••••

Alisa wrote, ‘After weeks of training, I ran my first half marathon.  13.1 hard-earned miles run by my very own legs.  Today as I nurse sore muscles and joints and reward my hard work with some homemade ice cream, I’m reflecting a little bit on this thing that I just did.

I wanted to learn what it meant to surrender myself in obedience to the Lord, in a practical, tangible way.  Through the sweat and frustration and tears and elation of training for this seemingly impossible thing, I longed, somehow, to bring glory to the One who created me. I wanted to please my Father’s heart.  And I hoped that someone else might catch a glimpse of Jesus in my journey.

The race itself went amazingly well.  Not easy, mind you, but easier than I expected.  By mile 12 I had to pray through every single step, ‘Just keep my feet moving, Jesus,’ I whispered through my wheezing.  And He did.  As I finished the race with my version of a sprint, I felt the most amazing sense of victory.  Not only because I had just pushed my body to run for two hours and twenty-eight minutes straight, although that felt incredible. The real victory was that I threw off everything that hindered me, fixed my eyes squarely on Jesus, and through Him, I ran my race.”

•••••

Michelle said, “Seven years of blissful marriage and two little boys later, I found myself turning thirty with thirty extra pounds. No question I was thankful for the blessings the Lord had given me, yet I was still hiding behind layers.  Over the years, the Lord has shown me that I am an emotional eater.  I eat when I’m happy, bored, sad and angry.  I ate to comfort myself, not to fuel my body.  I grew up in a very obese Italian family.  Food was an art form, but taken to the extreme.  I’ve had to learn that food is not the enemy; it is part of the Lord’s beautiful creation, created for our sustenance.

Six months ago I said to my husband, ‘Babe, if you could change anything about me, what would it be?’  After a few minutes of thinking, he said, ‘You are an awesome woman with vision, endless ideas and passion.  I would like you to say ‘yes’ to one or two things at a time, follow through to complete the task, and then move on to the next vision that He gives you.’

The Lord had been preparing my heart for that exact moment. I want to be a woman of her word, filled with the Spirit and conducted by the Spirit.  I knew my first task was to start taking care of my physical body.  I have lost 25 pounds this year through a strict dietary regimen.  While I was changing our family’s dietary habits, I realized I needed to exercise my physical body as well.

When Jodi and Diane asked us to consider running in the Helvetia race, I knew it was what I needed to push me forward and stay on track and keep this body moving in the right direction toward good health.  It was slow going at first – running for a minute then walking for two.  Eventually it turned into walking one minute then running two.  I slowly gained endurance and began to actually enjoy the process.  On race day my goal was to run the entire 10k with no stopping, and I did it!  Slow?  No question.  But I finished.

The Lord has continued to remind me that when I say ‘yes’ to one thing, I will have to say no to another.  In this season of saying ‘yes’ to training, I am saying ‘yes’ to good health.  I am showing my boys to love and respect the food that God has given us and the bodies we have to use for His glory. Better yet, many goals were accomplished by saying ‘yes’ to one discipline.” To God be the glory!

•••••

Andrea told me, “This was my second time running this event.  Four years and two kids later, I was able to shave ten minutes off my time.  It was still short of my goal but now I am even more eager to do another race.  I hit a wall at mile eleven and never really broke through it.  I pretty much shuffled the rest of the way with Mandisa’s song Stronger blasting through my iPod on repeat.  It’s a great song to run to when all you have left is to cling to Jesus to make it across the finish line.  I caught up to Monica Albaugh and unplugged the headphones so we could listen to the song together as we neared the finish line.  It was great to be able to finish with another Not Your Own lady and so encouraging to see so many women from our church out there.”

•••••

I met Amanda at packet pick up.  Slender and beautiful, she looked like a natural runner.  I asked her what event she was participating in fully expecting her to say the half marathon.  Instead, she grimaced and said with a determined look, “I’m walking the 10k.”  My confusion must have been obvious so she elaborated.  “I grew up running but I’ve battled some tough health issues in the past year.  It has taken a long time to stabilize my health and even now it’s in a fragile state.  I want to run but my body needs rest. I joined Not Your Own to honor God with my body, but in my case it means I have to force myself to walk a shorter distance instead of run a longer one.”  I was floored!  I saw the resolve in Amanda’s eyes to obey and honor her God and it touched me.

I caught up with her via email after the race.  She said, “The 10k was a lot of fun.  I definitely thought about running a couple of times, but I didn’t.  I walked the whole way.”  The ironic part of Amanda’s race is her finish time.  She chose a pace per mile that her body could handle and forced herself to stick to that pace, but her timing watch malfunctioned and she ended up finishing at a pace that was almost two minutes per mile faster than she anticipated!  Amanda obeyed God, listened to her body and walked her way to victory.  She finished by saying, “I can’t wait till I am healthy and running again, but in the meantime, I will just keep walking.”  You go Amanda!

•••••

This will be our last Not Your Own post for the Helvetia event.  Keep an eye on the blog and the Not Your Own Facebook page for the next Solid Rock sponsored-event, probably spring of next year.  In the meantime use the Not Your Own Facebook group to stay connected, build relationships, and find other events to train for.  While you’re at it, why not pull in some of your non-believing friends or co-workers to train with you?  You never know what God will do while you sweat and share together!

I’ve enjoyed connecting with each of you.  I posted my race day experience on my personal blog.  I’d love to have you follow me there until we meet again!

Persevering with you,

Jodi Stilp

…” well, when we came to the city of Troas to preach the Good News of Christ,

the Lord gave me tremendous opportunities. But I couldn’t find rest because my dear brother Titus hadn’t yet arrived with a report from you. So I said good-bye and went on to Macedonia to find him.

Now wherever we go He uses us to tell others about the Lord and to spread the Good News like a sweet perfume…”

2 Corinthians 2:12,13,14

(source)

Early this morning, still pajama clad, I finally cleaned out my fridge.

It looked alright- no spills, nothing going green yet.  But I every time I dared open the door, my over-sensitive nose was assaulted by an awful stench.  Where was it?  I’d checked left-overs, sniffed cheese, rummaged through the vegetable bin- nothing. How could something that looked so clean smell so rotten?

I found all sorts of stuff I didn’t know I had in there. Where’d I get all these sauces? Barbeque sauce, teriyaki sauce, chili sauce, hot sauce, Szechwan sauce and steak sauce to name just a few. And mustard—four different kinds!

Where was that stink?

I couldn’t help but ruminate, as I rummaged through my fridge, on my somewhat stinky life.  Something didn’t smell right lately.  Nothing obvious- no septic sins, nothing moldering unattended.  Everything on the outside seemed decently clean.

So how come I didn’t feel fresh?  Where was my energy… my normal wake-up-in-the-morning hopefulness?  How come I kept dreading my days and then barreling through them, dragging my to-do list along behind?  Why was my eye twitching?

Slowly the fridge emptied.  Every corner clean, each vegetable inspected.  Lots of iffy odors thrown out.  Still, nothing nasty enough to cause such a foul odor. What could it be? Time to check the freezer.

Once again everything came out.  When was the last time I emptied this freezer?  Last summer?  Maybe the summer before?  I have no idea. Judging by the overflow of frozen green beans and who-knows-what’s-in-em ziplocks, it’d been a good long while since I’d ventured deep into this territory. Why ever did I buy a big bag of frozen pineapple?  I don’t even like pineapple!

But the smell was fading. Either that or my olfactories were failing. The deeper I cleaned, the less I smelled. Yet I’d uncovered nothing.

I think the apostle Paul was talking about stinky lives when he wrote to his friends in Corinth that even though he’d experienced a lot of unrest in his life lately, he was determined that every where he went he’d spread the fragrance of Christ. He reminded his friends (and us, by the way) that spreading the Good News was about none of us having to stay trapped in our stinkiness because Jesus cleaned all that out on the Cross. His blood actually washed us clean. Imagine that. Clean, fresh, fragrant beauty.

Could it be that the fetid odor I’d been trying to ignore had to do with me forgetting that?

Like maybe it’s not about me and my agenda and my stress from my overambitious workload? That my goal ought not to be to get so much stuff done- but to spread His beauty and His perfume wherever, whenever, however, and with whomever I find myself?

Like maybe it’s really about Jesus?

If you, like me, tend to get ahead of God and pack your days full of more tasks than any fully-human-woman can possibly hope to accomplish, then maybe its time to stop buying more mustard.  Time to figure out why the eye is ticking before the bomb goes off. As for me, I’m going to get rid of some of the extras that are crowding out my joy.  Its time to take a long look at all that I’m doing and ask God for wisdom to know what needs to be thrown out. Time to clean the fridge.

I still have no idea what caused such extreme malodorousness. Nor do I know why it’s gone. But I do know that we’ll be eating a lot of strange combinations over the next few weeks- honey mustard on green beans anybody?

From my heart,

Diane

Thou hast been our dwelling place for all generations. Before the mountains were born,

Or Thou didst give birth to earth and the world,

Even from everlasting to everlasting,

Thou art God.

Psalm 90:1,2

The Meaning of His Name:

I first heard the story of Jesus and His redeeming plan for me when I was fifteen years old. Though my family had gone to church from time to time, somehow I’d missed all this. When we stumbled upon a church meeting in a remodeled electrical warehouse, the preacher there made sure no one who walked through those doors missed a thing.  With his big black Bible open, he taught through the Scriptures as if everyone knew there were treasures contained in that ancient book. Choirs sang and people worshiped and one day I walked forward to embrace everything I’d heard.  One by one, my family followed into a whole new world of faith.

It took a while to figure out what exactly I’d stepped into. Though I’m sure I must have heard the stories, I didn’t have a clue who Abraham was or where Moses fit in. And who was David? Ah… he was the one who penned those poems I’d loved even before I knew the Savior. I identified with that one. Somehow he’d managed to put a voice to all my emerging emotions, capturing my heart in the process. When I found his name listed in that intimidating genealogy of Jesus recorded in the beginnings of the story, I wondered.

Had I had any relatives of faith?

Sifting through sepia toned pictures of stern European ancestors, it didn’t take long to figure out that none of them had left any hint behind of a love for Jesus. Not a story, nor a Bible, not so much as one line indicating a living faith lingered to indicate that anyone in my lineage placed their hope in God. And somehow I felt robbed. Had no one ever told them? Or had the pursuit of wealth and adventure that filled the family history dulled their ears to what had opened mine?

When I held my firstborn son in my arms, I vowed to write a different story for this family of mine. A story of faith. A story of God’s faithfulness to pass on to generations of Comers to come.

About that time I picked up a dusty, out of print biography of Jonathan Edwards. It was the title that intrigued me first, Marriage to a Difficult Man by Elizabeth D. Dodds. But what ignited my imagination and held me there was the list at the back of the book of all the descendants of Jonathon and Sarah Edwards.

By 1900 AE Winthrop collected this study of the Edwards family:

13 college presidents

65 professors

100 lawyers

a dean of an outstanding law school

30 judges

66 physicians

a dean of a medical school

80 holders of public office

including 3 United States senators

mayors of three major cities

governors of three states

a controller of the United States Treasury

a Vice-President of the United States.

Theirs was a heritage to be proud of!

Could the same God who led Jonathon and Sarah to radically pursue a life and lineage of faith, create a similar kind of longevity for our family?

And so began my quest, my ongoing prayer, that God would establish in the Comer Clan a heritage of passionate, purposeful followers of Jesus. My heart’s pulsing desire is that Phil and I would be the patriarch and matriarch of men and women who pursue God with all their hearts, minds, souls, and strength.

This name, El Olam, is the foundation of that prayer.

Eternal, everlasting, never-ending, so full and so rich that He encompasses everything and everyone in His shadow.

That’s the One whose path I place my feet on every morning. He’s the One my husband and I cleared the center space for in our family. The One we’ve turned to over and over again when life wears out and nothing lasts.

How about you?

Will someone someday search the archives of your family’s history for some glimpse of real faith? Are you making sure she’ll find it?

After all, He is El Olam… and He’ll take you through eternity.

From my heart,

Diane

Some Scriptures to delve into:

Psalm 71:14-18- is marked all up in my Bible with names of my own heritage… the beginning of the Comer Jesus followers

Psalm 145- This is what to tell the generations

Genesis 18:19- Why God singled Abraham out to be the father of His people

Matthew 1, Luke 3- Want a fabulous Bible study? Look up every person in Jesus’ lineage. Study the stories that remain to pattern your own journey of faith.

My father is not a famous man. He has never written a book, never wanted to write a book. He’s never been interviewed or quoted or awarded anything much at all.

If you heard his name you would probably ask, Who’s he?

On the outside my dad looks just very ordinary. Medium weight, average height, brownish-grayish hair, blue eyes.

All my years of growing up, he lived in an ordinary tract home, drove an ordinary car, lived an ordinary life.

But my dad is not ordinary.

Born to a poor family, he worked his way through college, earned his degree, and landed a promising job with a large company.  He stayed out of debt, stayed married, and stayed with that same company for over thirty years.

It’s not all the things he has done that make my father special; it’s who he is.

As a man, as a father, my dad is really extraordinary.

Well acquainted with poverty, Dad determined to raise his children to be hard working, responsible people. Fresh as if it were yesterday, I remember being given the responsibility to water a brown patch of the front lawn. My job was to turn that brown grass green. Everyday just before I knew his car would drive into the driveway, I’d be out there proudly showing my daddy that at the impressive age of six, I was his big girl.

And he let me dream. Of course I could be a prima ballerina— if I worked long and hard at it. Certainly I could own a horse of my own— if I worked and saved and didn’t waste my money.

Though I never got through the first class of ballet, I did eventually get my horse.  For years I washed cars, babysat, dog sat, and house sat, until finally I exchanged five crisp hundred dollars bills for my very own bonafide horse.

I think my dad loved that horse as much as I did. He bought himself a pair of cowboy boots, learned the necessary lingo, and took hundreds of pictures.

He entered into my world and I loved him for it.

Somehow Dad just knew me. He’d listen as I jabbered endlessly about nothing, and yet seemed to understand what I didn’t say.

I grew up convinced that Dad could fix anything. If I left my hair dryer on the workbench, I could expect to find it in working order the next day. No big deal. Dad fixed it.

When mom and I disagreed and cried and yelled, Dad helped us to see the problem logically. To work it out. To be calm. Dad fixed us.

As a little girl, I loved my daddy’s hands. Broad and strong, they meant safety to me. When he held my little hand in his all was well with my world. He’d squeeze it every so often, not saying it in so many flowery words, but clearly communicating his love just the same.

Dad never used his hands to spank me; he had a wooden paddle for that. He didn’t’ have to use it very often but when he did he meant to teach a serious lesson. Perhaps the greatest pain those spankings caused me was to my pride. I’d let him down, disappointed him.

Later, when I was too old for spanking and my friends urged me to do something wrong, my response was clear, “No way, my dad would kill me!” Which, translated means, “Its not worth seeing the look of disappointment and disapproval in my daddy’s eyes.”

In my junior year of high school I faced a real identity crisis. I had stopped trying at school, given up being pleasant and nice at home. I was sure no one understood me, convinced no one really cared.

When I handed my dad my very average report card at the end of the semester, I cried and told him I knew I should do better— but just couldn’t.

He seemed to understand.

I got a two-bit job flipping hamburgers at a western-style amusement park that summer. Every day I dressed in a silly looking red and white stripped skirt, plain white blouse and red high top converse shoes with a big red bow in my hair.

Dad said I looked beautiful.

Every evening he asked about my job, the people I worked with, the food I cooked. “An important job”, he convinced me.

Several times, out of the blue, he would walk into that little hamburger joint and order a cheeseburger with the works. He always wore his cowboy boots, always winked at his flush faced daughter, and always declared loudly that it was the best hamburger he’d ever eaten.

He had me convinced I was the best hamburger flipper in the entire U.S.A. I was certainly the most responsible, best looking, top employee that Frontier Village had ever employed— or so said my dad.

By the end of the summer I was standing a little taller and that terrible chip on my shoulder was beginning to melt. That next school year I earned straight A’s and landed a good job at a bank before going on to college.

I have always known that it was Father who straightened me out.

Not with the stern confrontations or harsh discipline so typical of those teenager years. He didn’t draw up contracts I wouldn’t keep or heap on guilt I couldn’t bear. He just encouraged me. A lot. And because he believed in me, I began to believe in myself.

Dad is an engineer, not a psychologist, but he listened to his daughter’s heart and heard a cry for help.

Once again, Dad fixed everything.

On my wedding day Dad sat down with me, held my hand in his, and said,

“Honey, today I am going to give you away to another man.

I want you to know that once you are married you can never come back.

If you and your husband have a disagreement

you’re going to have to work it out together.

So if you’re not sure, now is your last chance to change your mind.”

I cried at the sobering, unromantic reality of his words. He was right, I knew, but somehow it didn’t fit into my world of romance and fairy tales. Yet as he squeezed my hand and smiled quietly into my eyes, I knew that my father was giving me the greatest gift he could possibly give.

He was letting go.

From a heart forever grateful for a Dad like mine,

Diane

(source)

I grew up camping and hiking in the High Sierras. Some of my earliest memories involve wading through rock-strewn streams in my keds; sliding down ledges, and clambering up hot granite boulders to keep up with my dad. My brother ambushed us with pinecone grenades launched from strategic hiding places within massive Sequoias. I remember collecting moss and pretty rocks for our outdoor dinner table and screaming hysterically at lizards and snakes.

The heavy scent of sun-warmed pine needles awakens memories of worry-free days of a childhood kissed with laughter and freedom. There is just something so safe about a canvas tent tucked in amongst towering trees. My father’s gentle snoring just inches away made all the darkness magical, while my mother’s pancakes on metal plates and bubbling hot cocoa with melted marshmallows welcomed us every morning.

Yet childhoods fade and life grows up and memories are replaced with the jarring voices of real life.

Worries.

Stress.

Pressure.

Conflict.

And some days are just overwhelming.

That’s where God steps in, instructing us through His real-life, poetry producing servant, David, how to keep from sinking into the mud and mire of real life.

I took my troubles to the LORD;

I cried out to Him…

Rescue me…

How I suffer among these scoundrels…

It pains me to live with these people…

I am tired of living here…

I look up to the mountains—

Does my help come from there?

My help comes from the LORD,

Who made the heaven and the earth!

He will not let you stumble and fall;

The One who watches over you will not sleep

Indeed, He who watches over Israel

Never tires and never sleeps.

The Lord Himself watches over you!

The Lord stands beside you as your protective shade.

The sun will not hurt you by day,

Nor the moon by night.

The Lord keeps you from all evil

And preserves your life.

The Lord keeps watch over you as you come and go,

Both now and forever.

Psalm 120,121 NLT

Way too often, I find myself scurrying haphazardly from problem to problem, slapping band-aids on all the scratches that leave me poked and bleeding. I try involving others, talking to friends. I follow steps to untangle my messes. I read books and listen to Dr’s and Oprah’s and still the real stuff sinks me.

And then, suddenly, my eye catches on that glint from way up there. The Most High One. Way up at the tippy-top of those great mountain peaks, David discovered the enormity of his God. Hovering high above all these troubles is One who watches with love filled eyes.

He helps.

In fact, just looking up to find Him helps.

High above all that troubles me, He sees and knows and catches me when I stumble.

He knows what’s just around the bend.

He knows about those criticisms that leave me stinging.

He’s followed all my failures and inadequacies.

He sees my list and knows I’ll never get it done.

The apostle Paul knew this way to hope too. In his letter to the Colossians, he wrote,

…keep seeking the things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your mind on things above, not the things that are on earth.

In other words, look up. Way up. Wrestle your mind away from all those worries. Set your vision on the One who is so high above them that He knows what to do. It all looks different up there—clearer.

And when I do, my heart soars! He brings me back to that place where all feels safe. Back into His shelter where I can hear Him breathe those words of hope. Way up there, seated beside Him I know peace.

And rest.

And even joy.

For He is my God. The Most High God. El Elyon.

And He’s yours too.

From my heart,

Diane

Some more Scriptures to hold on to:

Luke 1:30-32 (the words He gave to help Mary through her reality)

Hebrews 1:3-4

Psalm 57:2

Psalm 91

Isaiah 55:8,9 Psalm 107

And every story of rescue He included in His Word… just so you’ll know He’ll do the same for you: Ruth, Hannah, Esther, Mary Magdalene- read them all and remember to look up!

“… that I may know Him, and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of His

sufferings, being conformed to His death…”

“I press on in order that I may lay hold of that…”

“I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of Christ Jesus.”

− Paul in his letter to his friends in Philippi

(source)

It has often been said that life is a journey. And I believe that is so. But every journey I’ve been on has a destination, a goal, a place to get to. I’ve yet to meet anyone who set out to go nowhere.

For most of us, that journey seems to be at best random, at worst misdirected. We slide through life following our noses to the next place, randomly picking scents that smell good to us for a time. Then something else catches our attention and off we go, veering here and there into the vast frontier of life experiences.

No wonder we’re so restless.

Then there are those whose path is one of indiscriminate destruction. Careening here and there, leaving broken souls and calamity in their wake, these people pepper our lives with pain. To those married to such a person, or raised by someone of this sort, life begins to look more like a destruction derby, round and round a dusty track of defeat.

Where are we going? Where are we meant to go? And why is the getting there so filled with pain?

These are the questions we ask ourselves, the queries we spend our entire lives pursuing, whether we realize it or not.

Why else do we set goals? What other reason is there for all this quest to figure ourselves out? Why the bitterness so many end up with at the close of their lives?

The Bible is filled with stories of men headed somewhere. Abraham to a “land I will show you”, Moses from an Egyptian palace, through the wilderness, to the edge of the Promised Land. David, from the hills surrounding Bethlehem to the halls of a kingdom.

Women too, seem drawn to a particular place they are meant to be. Ruth the Moabitess determined to let nobody hold her back from living amongst the people of Promise. Knowing they would despise her, she went anyway. Her declaration to her mother-in-law, Naomi, sounding more like a life plan than simply a declaration of loyalty.

The list goes on and on. Esther to the king’s bedroom, Mary to the manger, Lydia to the riverside, Paul to Macedonia. Men and women called and directed by God to go somewhere.

I was a young woman when my journey took its first terrible turn. Up ‘til then I’d coasted with ease through an idyllic childhood. Never knowing any real pain other than the occasional conflict, life was as it was supposed to be— good and happy and normal.

Yet in all that goodness, a vague dissatisfaction had set in. An uneasy sense that there ought to be more. More what? I had no idea, just more.

When, inexplicably, in my twenties I began to lose my hearing, that flickering flame of restlessness ignited into a full-fledged inferno of entitled fury.

How dare God do this to me!

Wasn’t His job to make life good? As long as I followed His rules He was supposed to make everything right. To bless me. To give me everything I needed and even most of what I wanted to make life happy and rich and full and fulfilling.

Now this?

Soon I settled into a better solution. God was going to heal me, that was it! I envisioned myself a crowning glory of God’s power displayed for all to see. His poster child of gleaming joy. Arms raised, I would declare to all the world that God is good, just look at me and see His promise fulfilled.

What a story this would be! And of course, humble woman that I was, I would be absolutely resolute in giving all the glory to God. Just look at how God takes care of His own— especially those who follow the rules.

Wouldn’t everyone want to follow Him then?

Only He didn’t heal me. The tests came back showing further decline. The doctors were dismayed. Deafness was mentioned.

And my world fell apart.

The smooth sailing that had characterized my life had run into gale force winds and I had no equipment to handle it.

And though that’s a story for another day, (you can read the rest, if you like, here) I am now absolutely certain that it was God who propelled me into that storm and God who kept me there.

I did go deaf. I am still deaf. And I believe He wants me deaf.

And all this has to do with journey- my journey, because now I know the destination. I know exactly where I’m going.

I’m still not crazy about this section of the route. The bumps can be jarring, the twists and turns wear me out at times, but I’m on my way to where I’m supposed to go- to where I want to be.

My destination is right up close to the heart of God.

That’s where He’s taking me and He knows the way. That’s all He’s ever wanted for you and me, ever since that horrifying day in the Garden when we broke away from Him in the first place. That first sin that separated us from Him, setting us on a course of self-centered self-destruction far from His heart.

He wants me back. He wants you back.

And for some of us- for most of us, the only way we’re ever going to get there is through suffering.

Its not a pretty thought.

And yet, I can say now, after years and years of this hard thing, it’s worth it! This place He has brought me to, filled as it is with hurt and loss, is a good place.

Up close, He is all I ever wanted and more than I ever dreamed.

If your journey is taking you through some rough spots, will you take a little while to think about where you’re supposed to be headed in the first place?

I wish I had.

All that rage down deep came from a heart confused. Had I known His craving to connect my heart to His, I could have climbed into His comfort while He held me there. Instead I fought and demanded and made a mess of soul.

I’m still on that journey. Getting closer now, I’ve caught a whiff of His beauty.

Though suffering still scares me, I know where it leads. And I know where I’m going. And I want there.

I want Him.

From my heart on the way,

Diane

But as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives, And that He will stand upon the earth at last.

And after my body has decayed, yet in my body I will see God!

I will see Him for myself.

Yes, I will see Him with my own eyes.

I am overwhelmed with the thought!

Job 19:25,26 NLT

The Meaning of His Name:

Matthew was 12 when he finally convinced us to get him a dog of his own. He’d been working on us for a long time, but we’d been reluctant to start that whole messy training-of-a-puppy process once again. The chewing, the peeing, the figuring out how to get the beast to obey—we’d been there too many times before. And we knew by now exactly how the “I’ll do all the work myself!” pleas ended up. So we drug out heals, hoping maybe he’d lose interest over time.

Not a chance.

Matt kept after us relentlessly.

Finally, while on vacation in the Sierras we let down our guard and decided to just take a look at the local animal shelter. We warned him all the way up the dusty driveway that we weren’t making any promises and probably wouldn’t be choosing a dog that day.

Instead, a dog chose us.

A big brown patch over one eye and a long tear-like streak down the other, gave Jackson a jovial, pleading look. And he smiled at us, I swear! One look and our hearts were captured by this abandoned mutt in remote Jackson County, California.

But they wouldn’t let us take him home. Rules reined the sweltering office of that little pound. Rules that could not be bent or broken, even for a family attempting to save the life of a dog destined for death. We pushed and pleaded with the man, telling him we had to drive all the way back to our home in Oregon. Couldn’t we have him neutered there?

Not a chance.

But we had to have that dog. He was meant for us and we knew it, and no amount of hard-hearted bureaucracy was going to stop us!

So we concocted a plan.

Since we had to leave for home the next day to get back to work, we’d ask my brother who lived nearby to pick up the dog as soon as the pound would release him. He’d take him to the approved vet to have him neutered and keep Jackson until we could drive back 700 miles to pick him up.

A lot of work, but Dave did it for us.

And so, just a few days after getting home, my husband and son hopped back in the car and drove the 1400 miles round trip back to bring our dog home.

And I think Jackson knows exactly what it cost us to have him in our family. He is the most delightful, grateful, smiling dog we’ve ever had. And the most obedient. Its almost as if he knows we saved him from certain death. This dog waits for us to tell him something, anything to do! Every morning he fetches the newspaper and brings it, tail wagging, to the foot of the bed. Once, we’d forgotten to let him back in the house after a day of working in the yard. Rushing off to a Saturday evening church service, we didn’t realize that Jackson was still outside until we drove into our driveway several hours later. There sat Jackson, waiting for us to come back home.

Jackson’s sole purpose in life is to please his masters, the ones who redeemed him from the pound all those years ago.

Do you see it?

You and I have been rescued.

Redeemed from certain destruction.

He chose you, selected me. And He paid an unbelievably high price to bring us back. Back where we belong.

…do you not know that you are not your own?

For you have been bought with a price:

Therefore glorify God with your body…

I Corinthians 6:19,20

After all, He really is your Redeemer…

From my heart,

Diane

Romans 12:1-2

Revelation 5

Isaiah 41:14

Ephesians 4:29

Good morning ladies. At this time next week most of us will be nursing sore muscles and gingerly getting ready for church.  But we’ll be beaming because we finished what we set out to accomplish.  You just might be tempted to wear your finisher’s medal to church. I was going to write a post about what to expect on race day, but any information you would ever need to know is beautifully detailed on the Helvetia Half Marathon website, including a What To Expect on Race Day article.  Please take the time to review all this information.  You will be glad you did.

You have worked so hard over the last twelve weeks persevering through one of the wettest and coldest springs in Portland’s history.  You’ve spent money on new shoes, workout gear, and race registration. You’ve endured blisters and achy muscles.  You’ve forced yourself out of bed early, stayed up late, and pushed your body to go distances you didn’t know you were capable of.  You’ve been mentally, physically and emotionally challenged as you embraced the vision that you are Not Your Own.

There’s only one hurdle left. The race. Can you visualize the finish line?  Family and friends eagerly scanning the crowd of athletes (that’s you) awaiting your arrival and erupting in chaotic cheering when you round the bend and come into sight.  You are almost there and I know you can finish what you started.

I ran track for one season.  I was in 7^th grade, awkward, and unsure of myself.  I was a decent sprinter but distance was my specialty.  My favorite race was the 800 meter (1/2 mile) or two times around the track.  Most runners (me included) would start off sprinting and then fizzle as they rounded the last corner heading into the home stretch.

My Dad understood this race and he’d plant himself on the grass inside the track, right at the 700 meter mark.  He’d wait for me to come around the corner, see my agonized look and know that I was at my breaking point.  It was in that moment he’d start screaming at the top of his lungs.  “C’mon Podi.  You can do it.  They’re closing on you.  Run Tweedle Dee!  Just run!”  His encouragement was what I needed to dig deeper and just run. All the way to the finish and into his arms.

Hebrews 12:1 is one of my favorite verses.  It says, “Therefore since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.”

On Saturday you will be surrounded by a cloud of witnesses.  They will be watching you run, especially how you finish.  You’ll experience exhaustion.  You’ll question why you got talked into all this nonsense.  You might even want to hunt me down after the race and give me a piece of your depleted mind.  In your moments of weakness listen for your Daddy screaming encouragement and run with perseverance the race marked out for you.  Just run. All the way to the finish and into His arms.

Persevering with you,

Jodi

Don’t forget to:

• Let us know if you can volunteer at packet pick-up on Friday, June 10^th at the Scholls Ferry location of Portland Running Company. They need help from 3-6 p.m. so if you can serve in that time frame, please email hespeaks@ajesuschurch.org so we can add you to the volunteer schedule.
• Pick up your race packet. There are four options available.  I highly recommend that you do not wait until race morning to pick up your packet.  It’s worth the extra trip to be prepared ahead of time.
• Eat a good meal on Friday night. Fuel your body with the right energy so you’ll be in tip-top shape for the race in the morning.
• Lay out your race day supplies some time on Friday afternoon: shoes, socks, bra, undies, shirt, shorts/skirt, hat, sunglasses, energy foods, water bottle if you’re racing with one, timing watch, bib number, ipod, earbuds, and clothes to change into.  The adrenaline starts pumping when you do this which is why I recommend starting hours before you want to go to bed for the night.
• Give yourself enough time to get to the stadium. I’ve heard over and over that traffic to the stadium on race morning is a nightmare.  Plan your route and then double the time it normally takes to get there.  You’d rather be early and have time to chat with other Not Your Own athletes than be late and miss the start of the race.
• Look for the Not Your Own tent. We will have a tent set up in the vendor area around the stadium (I’m sorry I don’t have a specific location yet) to gather before and after the race.  We’ll pass out Not Your Own wristbands and pray before we head to the start.  This will also be a great opportunity to put faces to the names of the ladies who have been training.  Ask ladies if they are running or walking and what pace they hope to maintain. Find a buddy to line up with at the start and make a friend while you race.  We need each other.
• Email hespeaks@ajesuschurch.org to let us know about your race experience. We’ll share some of your stories in future posts.
• Happy running and walking!

Today I want to tell you a story.

But this is not a pretty story. In fact, this story’s horrors may keep you up at night. So if you only like the nice ones, go ahead and move on because…

There’s nothing nice about murder.

This story begins many, many years ago when a baby girl was born to her proud father and adoring mother. Like every little girl, Megan loved to twirl and dance and laugh out loud. She played baby dolls and drew pictures of the sun and the stars and green trees beside pretty houses.

She poured love and embraced life.

But as so often happens for fairly-like little ones, Megan struggled through the painful metamorphosis from girlhood to womanhood. Something snagged along the way. Pain invaded her safe cocoon. Misunderstanding and confusion and rejection and helplessness conspired to wreck her once-safe world.

So Megan ran away.

Away from the madness. Away from hurt. Away from a world gone bad.

But as she fled the darkness, her feet stumbled into that blackest of pits, catching her there, gripping her tight—drugs.

This little girl who once swirled to the applause of her parents, descended into the dark relief of nothingness.

Years passed. Years that should have been filled with boys and bouquets and snapshots of a life lived at the edge of joy. In their place were pictures of a hallow-eyed waif with too-limp hair and too-dull eyes. Pictures that never made it to the scrapbooks.

Her parents tried to help.

Oh how they tried! Rehab and rescues and searching and letting go.

But the lost girl stayed lost to all that love. Lost on purpose.

And then one day the unthinkable twisted the nightmare into terror.

Megan was murdered.

Her proud father had to hear. And so did her mama. How their baby, their beautiful, angel-haired, twirling little girl died alone.

Afraid.

And somehow it seemed to all who knew, that Satan won that day.

All those prayers. Didn’t God hear?

But this story didn’t end at Megan’s murder.

Maybe her story just started… maybe there’s a whole lot more to Megan’s life than her gruesome death… and maybe, just maybe, Megan is watching beneath the arms of God as this next saga of her story unfolds.

Megan’s adoring daddy, you see, is not a man to let things lie. He’s a man of action, of can-do-must-do-will-do drive. And he’s a judge. The black robed, stern visaged, gavel-pounding guy behind the oak stand. His name is Tom.

Now I know what most of you are thinking. Daddy gets bad guy and bad guy goes to hell! Right? The good guys cheer and all the mamas all the world over sleep a little easier tonight.

But that’s not this story.

The bad guy did get caught. It took a long time and a lot of men and a lot of mamas with a lot of fire to get this guy. But they did it. They got him. And they locked him behind steel so he could never hurt a lost little Megan ever again.

And he didn’t even say he was sorry. Not once. A really bad guy.

And Megan’s daddy— Tom— the judge— still grieved deep.

But somewhere in his mourning something happened.

Something strange and otherworldly and unexplainable. Something about faith and the Father. Something foreign to all the rest of us watching.

Tom forgave the man.

Reaching deep into that part of the soul no one sees, Tom’s yearning for peace turned him to the One who called himself the Prince of Peace. And so he opened the book about that strange one and searched inside the words to find what no one else could give. What he found there shook his heart.

Words about mercy to the undeserving, and grace for brutality and forgiving the unforgivable.

Words like “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

Those words.

And Tom, the one on the outside of those prison walls, felt his soul set free.

Really.

In fact, with the freeing of his heart, came something more. Something hard to believe but true none-the-less.

Tom, the-little-girl’s-adoring-daddy, that Tom, went behind the bars to tell the man, that very bad man who had murdered his daughter, about the One whose words set him free. And that bad man who had never even wept a tear, that one who had not so much as said I’m sorry, broke apart.

While guards held guns and no one watched, Tom talked. Words about One who died on purpose for men like him. Bad men. And good ones too. And how the God-man knew what He was doing when He hung from that sin-scarred beam. And how He had the bad man’s face and Megan’s face and Tom’s face all tucked into His heart as He writhed in pain.

And Tom kept talking.

Words about why and words about how. Words about life to the man who brought death to his daughter.

And when the man asked why, Tom just cried. A lot. And...

The one who wielded the knife and shed the blood and heard the screams— shattered in the face of forgiveness.

And I think Megan knows.

And smiles.

And twirls a bit before her other Father with a glee and gladness and joy not known since her little girl days.

And so do I.

And so should you.

Because that’s not just an ugly story about a world gone bad. And that’s not a story where the evil one wins.

That’s a story about One who sets the prisoners free.

All of us.

From my heart,

Diane

For those of you who scratch your heads and wonder what all this talk about temper tantrums and anger and defiance has been about, I can only say that for some parents with some children, it is a daily struggle. This will be our last post about dealing with anger in our children. Next week we’ll be moving on to a series called The Box.

This is a letter I sent to my daughter in response to her crying out for wisdom concerning her almost-two year old son. I didn’t intend these words for anyone but Elizabeth and maybe that’s why I’m able to give them to you now. This is my own heart pouring into my own daughter as she guides her son- my grandson- into a life of flourishing faith.

Dear Daughter:

This is a question that I want to take a little time to answer here... I'm all curled up in my big chair with a steaming cup of tea. By my side is a pile of great biblical parenting books, along with my Bible.

What you are encountering with Duke is his version of simple rebellion. We call these "temper tantrums". The Bible often uses the phrase "outburst of anger". Basically, your darling little baby is growing up and asserting his drive for dominion.

He craves absolute control- not unlike the first Adam and the first Eve who chose to override God's desire for them.

Left unchecked, this rebellion will lead to his death- if not physically, at least spiritually and certainly relationally. He will hurt and alienate people he disagrees with and he will be unable to gather the strength it takes to submit to the authorities in his life.

By dealing with this problem early in his life, while his will is just emerging, you are giving him the great benefit of learning to control those surges of willful rebellion.

If you think a 20 month-old's outburst is brutal, wait until he's 3... or 13…or 30. Every time you discipline him now you are enabling him to build a wall of protection around his will so that someday he will have what it takes to do that agonizing submitting of his will to the Father.

Take a peek at Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane... sweating great drops of blood in a fight against His will to avoid the hell He was facing. Hebrews 5:8 says, "Although He was a Son, He learned obedience from the things which He suffered."

In the book Shepherding a Child's Heart, Tedd Tripp says this, "The rod of correction brings wisdom to the child. It provides an immediate tactile demonstration of the foolishness of rebellion. Properly administered discipline humbles the heart of the child, making him subject to parental correction."

What he is talking about is that softness that happens after the spanking is given. That is the beautiful moment when his heart beats with yours and you speak words of approval as well as correction to a gentled will.

That 1/2 hour you spent comforting him was easily as weighted of a moment as the couple of minutes it took to spank him. The two go hand in hand to complete the goal of training him to submit his will by an act of his will, and then to experience the peace and reconciliation that comes as a result.

So you see? As loathsome as this is, you are imprinting on his heart a condition which he will gravitate back to for the rest of his life. He will someday transfer the intentional submission of his will to you and Brook into an ability to intentionally submit his will to the Father- and he will instinctively know God's peace and approval in the process.

As to how dramatic and difficult it is right now, I think that has to do with a couple of things.

1. His personality/mission

Leaders have a lot of will to learn to conquer. They are not naturally compliant people. They can be pushy and assertive and insistent. Therefore, his response to having his will denied is going to be loud and pushy and insistent.

2. His age

Duke is just finding his voice, just realizing that he is "ME". He has very little capacity to understand "will" and "no" and "quiet". Dreadful as it may feel to one as gentle in spirit as you are, he must learn these things the hard way

3. Timing

Some of these outbursts may be happening because you are catching it just a tad too late. After all, this temper has just started, it is a new reaction. The quicker you recognize what is happening, the less drama involved.

Most of the time we do the opposite. We wait until it gets REALLY BAD and then we set out to spank. I have found over and over again that spanking early enables the parent to spank a whole lot less and with much clearer results.

So... hang in there. Keep at it. You are building one brick at a time.

Keep filling in the spaces with verbal instruction, lots of time to play, physical affection and plenty of freedom to unleash some of that pent-up man-ness.

And don't take it personally, dear daughter of mine. He is not rebelling against you so much as against anyone and everyone who would dare stop him from doing exactly what he wants to do.

Your job is simply to obey God, even at great cost to your own comfort.

One more thing- Pray! Give these outbursts to God. Partner with Him to shape and mold and shine up Duke's spirit. I don't know why we so often forget that part! We jump right into the "I don't know what to do", when the Father is on the sidelines waiting for you to ask.

James 1:5 is the best prayer for parents that I know. Ask God to soften Duke's outbursts and quickly bring his heart into an understanding of submission.

Long, long answer my dear. I wish I could make it easier- wish there was a tidy formula to wrap it all up in ten days or your money back.

I do know that in the process of representing the loving but fearsome Father to Duke, you are involved in a high and holy calling. And I also know that it will take every bit of your intelligence, wisdom, understanding, and resolve to accomplish the task.

But I also know who is with you in this. Can't you just seem Him nodding in agreement with a great smile of approval on His face? I can imagine a whole crowd of witnesses actively standing on their tippy-toes, praying for you, hoping for you, cheering you on. Maybe Duke even has ancestors in that group, Grandpa Comer perhaps?

I love you! And am so proud of your will to persist and determination to learn.

Love,

Mom

And my God shall supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:19

(source)

Meaning of His Name:

When God gave Himself the name El Roi, the God who sees me, He let us know that He sees where and who we are. He sees ME— the real me, with all my flaws and failures. He looks at you and me and chooses to love us. How stunning is that?!

Yet there is another way in which God says He sees us. The name Yahweh Yireh, meaning the LORD will provide, can be more graphically translated as, the LORD who sees ahead of me.

He not only sees me now, right where I am, but He also is looking ahead at where I am going. He sees what I cannot- every twist and turn of the path ahead.

And in all His seeing, He provides.

This name for God, Yahweh Yireh, is first mentioned in an uncomfortable moment of Abraham’s life, and then used over and over again in Scripture to point to what it looks like to be a man or woman of real faith.

Abraham had already made his mark as a man of faith by leaving all that he knew— his home, his career, his security, “not knowing whither he went”[1]. He’d heard from God and followed in heroic faith.

And God had honored that faith by giving him land and riches and what he wanted more than anything else in this world— a son of his own.

It’s the kind of fairy tale-like story all of us love: Abraham’s welling up of courageous faith and God’s generous pouring out of blessing, making all his dreams come true.

And that story might have ended nicely right there, except that “later on, God tested Abraham’s faith and obedience.”[2]

Just like God tested Job… and Peter… and even His own Son.

God asked Abraham to take what he treasured most, “your only son, yes, Isaac, who you love so much-“[3] out into the bleak wilderness of Moriah[4]. There Abraham would be required to “offer him up” in absolute dedication to the LORD.

I squirm in my seat as I read those words.

How could God ask that of one He called a friend?

Why would He?

Yet Abraham, father of our faith, didn’t ask those questions. He just went.

Setting off as the sun was rising over the desert, Abraham saddled his donkey, hoisting his young son on it’s back along with a bundle of wood for the sacrificial offering. All the boy knew was that he was on an adventure with his father and a couple of servants.

A strange entourage trekking across that barren land.

Three days into the journey, Abraham spotted way off in the distance that place where all his dreams would die.

And still he went.

When his little boy asked, “Father where is the lamb for the sacrifice?” Abraham must have choked on his answer. “God will yirah, my son.”[5]

Can’t you see them?

Father and son walking together towards death.

How God must have loved His friend in that moment. Did tears spill from the Father’s eyes as He watched the determined steps of a father willing to let his own son— his only son, die just because God said so?

At the last moment, God caught Abraham’s hand in His and provided a ram caught in the thicket to sacrifice in his son’s stead.

Can you imagine the worship that went on there on that mountain? Father and son, arms wrapped around each other in heart-pumping relief. Weeping, laughing, hollering, as shouts echoed off barren cliffs.

There was nothing tame about Abraham’s faith!

What is it that you love more than anything else? What are your dreams?

Will you walk in Abraham’s story to lay down your loves at the foot of the Cross? Willing, even eager to leave it all to go after Jesus?

And will you, instead of striving and fretting, trust Him to look ahead and see what He knows you need?

Will you trust Him that much?

Could you? Could I?

Dare we?

With a heart longing for that kind of reckless faith,

Diane

Genesis 22

Philippians 4:19,20

Hebrews 11:17-19

2 Kings 4

---

[1] Hebrews 11:8 KJV, I love the way the words go!

[2] Genesis 22:1

[3] Genesis 22:2

[4] which, strangely enough means Jehovah seeing (All the Divine Names and Titles in the Bible, Lockyer)

[5] Genesis 22:8 provide, or see ahead

I want to introduce you to my training partner.

Ladies, meet Carissa – wife to Tass, mother to Lukas, Toby, and Markus, daughter, sister, friend to many, and runner.  In her pre-kid life she worked as a tax accountant which translates to her being really smart and paying attention to detail.  In her post-kid life she added “teacher” to her list of accomplishments and is successfully home-schooling her sons. I think she’s pretty amazing.

We met almost three years ago at house church.  We were both new to the area and new to Solid Rock.  Occasionally we’d pray together in small group catching glimpses of each other’s lives in five-minute snippets.  I often thought to myself, “I need to get to know Carissa better.”  But we left to start a house church in Newberg and my interactions with Carissa over the next two years dwindled to sporadic interactions on Facebook and random sightings at church.

In that time Carissa got pregnant, had a baby, lost all her baby weight in a matter of months, and ran a half-marathon at a pace I’d worked for three years to attain. Are you as impressed as I am?

As for me, I injured my knee, had surgery and spent six months in physical therapy rebuilding my strength.  I ran my first post-surgery race right after a family reunion where my step-brothers (who are very fit and fast runners) shanghaied me into a verbal commitment to run the Portland marathon with them.  I walked away thinking, “What did I just get myself into?”

Within weeks Carissa emailed and asked, “Are you by any chance running the Portland marathon?  I’d love a partner for the long runs at the end of the training program.  Would you be interested?”  With that email we became partners in crime.

Our partnership is mostly electronic.  We message each other when we run, lamenting when it’s super tough and celebrating when we fly through a run.  We check in with each other for accountability and encouragement and once a month try to run together.

Our first training run was eighteen miles in the foothills surrounding Newberg. We used our three hours of running to pepper each other with questions, tell how we met our husbands, and share our parenting struggles.  By the time we huffed our way back to my driveway we were fast friends.

Carissa is thoughtful, calm and collected.  Her running reflects her personality.  She tackles a run in a calm, calculated manner, regulates her breathing to keep it even at all times, and never appears to be struggling.  I am impulsive, excitable, and emotional.  My running reflects my personality.   My pace changes drastically based on the terrain.  I sprint down hills, sound like an asthmatic woman in labor when I climb, and sigh, moan, hoop and holler as my emotions dictate.  Carissa rolls her eyes at my crazy antics and laughs at my lame jokes.  I appreciate her take-charge, no-nonsense approach to life.  She takes care of all the planning and details and I just show up at the appointed time (or maybe a few minutes late). We make a good team.

Over time our partnership has grown from running accountability to life accountability.  We check in with each other, lamenting when life is super tough and celebrating when we’re in a season of victory.  We pray for each other, our husbands and our kids.

I invited myself over for dinner and a sleepover at Carissa’s house the night before the Portland marathon because she lives closer to the start of the race and I abhor getting up early.  We ran the marathon together in the pouring rain and had a “we’re really doing this” emotional moment at mile 13.

Sharing that grueling race with a comrade made me realize I never want to run a long race alone again.

A few weeks ago we ran the Eugene half marathon together.  We used the race as a chance to escape for 24 hours of girls only time.  It was life-giving for both of us.

Last weekend we previewed the Helevetia half marathon course.  Carissa brought a friend and we all met at West Union Elementary School.  I was a few minutes late, slightly discombobulated, and prepared to run a ten-mile loop and not a step further.  Carissa was on time, stretched out, and hoping to add three miles to our loop to make a full half marathon.  None of this surprised either one of us.  After all, we’re partners.

We ran up, down and around country roads through breath-taking farmland.  Cows mooed.  Dogs barked.  Birds sang.  We passed the quaintest country church (just wait until you see it) and ran past clover fields in full bloom hemmed in by the coastal mountain range.  The beauty of the route took the edge off the pain of climbing so many hills. You ladies will love this course.

I asked Carissa if I could share the story of how our friendship evolved.  She said,  “Go for it.  God’s fingerprints are all over our running partnership and friendship.  I pray writing about it will bless others too.”

We all need a friend who embraces our differences, celebrates our victories, and challenges us to grow.  King David had a friend like this in Jonathan who “loved David as he loved himself.” (I Samuel 20:17)  When David was literally running for his life and hiding in caves, Jonathan found David’s hiding place and “helped him find strength in God.” (I Samuel 23:16)

Do you have a partner in crime like Carissa who helps you find strength in God?  Once you have a comrade that sticks by your side through the grueling race called life you will never want to run alone again.

Persevering with you,

Jodi

PS: Check back next week for more details about race day!

(source)

Quite a few of you have asked me to write about why I chose to devote so many years of my life to teaching my children at home.

I started to try to write something about the pros and cons of every option- public school, private school, or home school. I just couldn’t get it right.  It seemed that no matter what I wrote, I ended up simply spouting an opinion, and that’s not what this page is about.

It really is my burning desire to write wise words gleaned from God’s Word.

Then I stumbled upon a post by my all time favorite blogger, Ann Voskamp. Her reasons for home schooling her own children are stated with more intelligence and eloquence than I could ever hope to put on paper.

If you are in that wisdom-seeking process of investigating the options and deciding what God wants for your family at this time, this post is worth mulling over.

Home schooling is not a wise choice for everyone. Nor is it the mark of a good and godly mother. It is simply one viable option for some families.

Someday soon I’ll post something about how to do public school well from a mother who has been there and seen her children thrive. Those of you who choose that option will need some wise words from wise women to make that work for your family.

And I’ll do the same for the private, Christian school option.

In the mean time, enjoy those children who grace your home. Relish every moment you have to teach and train and be with God’s gifts to you.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:

This is the most important thing you will every do!

From my heart,

Diane