Just breathe.

One of the things I’ve begun to do to help me through this grieving process is running. Yes, I know some would call me crazy – but believe me, I needed it. Something that keeps me healthy, gives “me time” with worship music coming through my headphones while my children are well cared for, helps me feel better about myself, helps cut down on stress, and gives me goals in otherwise now pretty mundane days of caring for small children? Well, I’d call that a win ten times over.

I have regularly worked out at a gym for years, but never have been able to run due to asthma. And until now, I never really minded. But now? Well, I’m a little bit of a crazy determined woman who has needed to accomplish some things I could never do before. I decided to use my “couch to 5k” app to train myself for a 5k on Father’s Day, honoring Bryan’s legacy and beating my own personal odds.

I have to admit – the start of my training was awful. I had to get a pricy inhaler that I must use at the beginning of the run. I spent the majority of each run trying to catch my breath, gasping for air while mentally telling myself over and over that I could do this. It was quite humiliating to feel so out of shape when I had before considered myself to be pretty fit. I called a few friends who I knew had beaten asthma and are great runners today, hoping they would share their secrets with me. I found it was something they all just had to persevere through.

Then one day, I was reading on my Kindle to try to make the time on the treadmill go by faster and be distracted from how hard this was. I came across a passage reminding me that the Hebrew word for God, Yahweh, was written without vowels and pronounced with the sounds of taking a breath in and breathing it back out. Go ahead and try saying it to yourself right now.

YHWH

Amazing, right?

This God who created the universe, who put the stars in the sky and who has held it in place through thousands of years, longs for us to breathe His name with every breath we take. The easy ones, when we laugh hysterically with joy at life’s wonderful moments. The sad ones, when we cry uncontrollably at the hardship we’ve been given to wade through. And, the difficult ones, when we gasp for air, praying it continues to come – praying we can just keep breathing.

A good friend told me that the Lord’s taught her more lessons while running than in Bible studies she’s done. I’m understanding it now. Even running can be worship. And worship, as Louie Giglio profoundly put it in a recent sermon, is giving God His breath back. After all, don’t all of our breaths come from Him anyway? He’s the only reason I wake up with breath in my lungs each day.

And so, I run – both on the literal treadmill, and through this “treadmill” called life. I give it my all, so that when it’s all said and done, I will have run the race and endured the faith. And that 5k? H and I ran it together, and it was so invigorating. We’re actually doing another one together tomorrow! I may never be the fastest runner, but I am determined to keep running… and to keep breathing.

In and out. In and out. 

One breath at a time.

 

Guest posting today...

So appreciate all your sweet comments of encouragement after my last post and blog restart. I'm still trying to figure out how to juggle writing with all the other demands I've had on me since the school year started. Today, I'm actually over at Susan Merrill's blog sharing a little about that juggling act. Here's an excerpt...

Almost seven months ago, I entered the world and label of being a “single mom.” I had been blessed with a wonderful husband of almost nine years who shared so much of a parenting partnership with me. From the time we brought home our first child from the hospital over seven years ago, he shared in the feedings, sleepless nights, sick days, and bedtime routines. I know some might say that I was royally spoiled to have a husband who was so hands-on and involved, and I probably would have to agree. But along with the grief that comes with the suddenness of his passing away, that’s definitely made the transition to doing it all alone so much harder...

 

You can read all of this post on Susan's blog here. Thanks for stopping by, and have a great weekend!

I'm back.

Hope… everyone seems to be grasping for it these days, desperately searching for it through life’s unanswered questions and hardships. We look to a lot of things to meet needs and fill the ache and the holes in our souls, coming up empty again only a little while later.

It’s been over six months since my beloved B went to be with Jesus, and I’ve done plenty of my own aching and searching. And every time I’ve been at my absolute lowest, laden with grief and consumed by tears and unanswered questions, my Jesus has met me there… and I’ve seen it for myself. Hope. That promise that He has won and death has been overcome through His victory on the cross, and that He truly does make beauty from ashes in His timing. The extent of it all I may never fully know until I reach Heaven myself, with a new body and perspective and God’s Son standing before me, wiping away my every tear with His nail pierced hands and reminding me that it was His guidance and love for me that brought me through the hard.

But some glimpses of it, I see every day – through children with such resilience that they can giggle and act out plays and play jokes on each other when the pain of losing their father still runs so deep. Through family and friends who care and bring meals and offer to babysit and make the load a little lighter when I need it most.  Through Starbucks gift cards sent through the mail just when I need a little "pick me up". Through rainbows and sunsets and walks on the beach.  Through early morning and late night quiet when I open the Scriptures and see His love for me, and read story after story of Bible characters who faced their own hard, whom we admire today as we see themes of hope woven throughout their lives.

 

And so, this hope is like manna – that every day “what is it?” mystery of sustenance that the Israelites received long ago during their wilderness period. His grace and strength gets me through each day, usually with just enough for that given day. And when I lay my head on my pillow at night, I can be convinced that it will be there for tomorrow. Just enough for each day, I remember. I don’t have to know how to handle more than He gives me for that certain day, and when I try to take on too much, it all goes awry anyway. Like rotten manna.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but I know Who holds tomorrow. And I am convinced that His hope IS the anchor for my soul. And so I pray that moving forward, this little blog, as a window into my thoughts and our lives, would be a place of seeing the hope that only He can give when the dark of night is faced and the beauty of the morning sunrise is still yet to behold. There is hope to be found, and unexpected joy, even if it’s in little glimpses as we wait for God to fulfill His promise and make beauty from these ashes. Our pain is real and our story is messy. But I know the Author of hope and the Creator of beauty, and I’m clinging to Him for both as we continue to trudge forward.