When it comes down to it...I'm a sham. It's not a revelation I particularly enjoy fessing up to, but it's true nonetheless. I spent years growing up in a Christian home, surrounded by values and dialogue about Christ. After graduating high school, I went to t Christian college. I decided to go into teaching, partially out of obligation to follow in my mother's footsteps, but mostly because I believed in the possiblity of helping others. God had given me hands to serve, hadn't He? I worked hard while in school. I even served here and there when it was comfortable...I worked with teen moms, took a job as an RA, and periodically participated in campus activities that focused on the less fortunate. Four years later, I graduated from this Christian institution, moved home, found a job, and settled in. Settled. Settled. Settled.
Now I'm married, live in a comfortable home in a safe suburb, drive a safe car, and deal with, for all intensive purposes, safe kids. At 27, I have to ask the question, have I settled?
My knee-jerk reaction is no. Of course I haven't settled. You see, for many years I associated "settling" with one aspect of my life: my future spouse. I went through a time where I was close to settling for a less than perfect-for-me husband, but now? Now, I am married to a wonderful man who loves me, and more importantly, loves God, but I still have this nagging feeling that maybe there's more out there for me to do...for us to do.
I wonder if there's something I've been called to that I haven't found yet. In a world so desperate to know God, to be reassured of acceptance and love, what do I do? Who do I influence? Where is my passion to show others Christ? At this point, I have way more questions than answers. Maybe this will always be the case, but regardless, it's time to start searching.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
...95 days to go...
About two weeks later, I'm back to blogging. In fairness, I started a couple of other posts last week, but never finished them. Those who know me well are certainly NOT surprised by this. To say that I should have "Procrastination" as my middle name is an understatement.
Sarah informed me today that she had good news. She should have put "good" in air quotes to add the appropriate sentiment because the news she delivered was that there are 95 days until our mini. Ninety. Five. Days. This did not seem like "good" news. It hit me as "Oh, my gosh, are you kidding me?" news. At the beginning of Week #4, I'm not anywhere NEAR where I was. I'm topping out at a consecutive mile of running before a rest break. NOT what I want. I feel like a pansy.
On an up note, I loaded my iPod with the entire Twilight saga and Harry Potter series. For some reason, if I'm able to focus on Edward and Bella's forbidden love, or "The Boy Who Lived," I'm less likely to want to rip my lungs out of my chest. Speaking of my lungs, I am desperate for the weather to be better. I truly believe this treadmill running is worse because there are days that I just don't feel like there's enough oxygen in the weight room to energize the 50+ grunting student athletes AND me.
Finally, Sarah has mono. Actually, she has the virus formally known as mono since she's too old to actually have mono. (Credit for that quippy title belongs to Brandi or Rhonda, not me...it was a Blue Day lunch creation.) In all honesty, she's been a much better trooper than I think I would be were I sick with "not mono." Again, those who know me will tell you that I tend to be a bit of a whiner...Ok, fine. I'm a ridiculous whiner. I've also been known to stomp my foot in protest. That being said, when Sarah sucked it up and trained yesterday, I was impressed. So impressed, in fact, that her dedication caused me to run by myself today because Sarah had to put on her "Mom" hat and take a sick toddler to the doctor. (Poor Miles:()
So here we are...95 days...on the way...to a mini.
Sarah informed me today that she had good news. She should have put "good" in air quotes to add the appropriate sentiment because the news she delivered was that there are 95 days until our mini. Ninety. Five. Days. This did not seem like "good" news. It hit me as "Oh, my gosh, are you kidding me?" news. At the beginning of Week #4, I'm not anywhere NEAR where I was. I'm topping out at a consecutive mile of running before a rest break. NOT what I want. I feel like a pansy.
On an up note, I loaded my iPod with the entire Twilight saga and Harry Potter series. For some reason, if I'm able to focus on Edward and Bella's forbidden love, or "The Boy Who Lived," I'm less likely to want to rip my lungs out of my chest. Speaking of my lungs, I am desperate for the weather to be better. I truly believe this treadmill running is worse because there are days that I just don't feel like there's enough oxygen in the weight room to energize the 50+ grunting student athletes AND me.
Finally, Sarah has mono. Actually, she has the virus formally known as mono since she's too old to actually have mono. (Credit for that quippy title belongs to Brandi or Rhonda, not me...it was a Blue Day lunch creation.) In all honesty, she's been a much better trooper than I think I would be were I sick with "not mono." Again, those who know me will tell you that I tend to be a bit of a whiner...Ok, fine. I'm a ridiculous whiner. I've also been known to stomp my foot in protest. That being said, when Sarah sucked it up and trained yesterday, I was impressed. So impressed, in fact, that her dedication caused me to run by myself today because Sarah had to put on her "Mom" hat and take a sick toddler to the doctor. (Poor Miles:()
So here we are...95 days...on the way...to a mini.
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