I was thinking today that there are some things you can't trust God for. You cannot trust that he will never allow anyone or anything to hurt you. You cannot trust that he will always protect your loved ones. You cannot trust that you, or anyone else you know and love, will be healed from every disease or physical ailment. You cannot trust that God will provide you with the husband or wife of your dreams or longing.
You cannot trust him not to lead you through desert places, or the valley of the shadow of death.
But you can trust him to walk with you when he does.
I cannot trust God for things, material or not. I can only trust him to be who he is--the one who exercises kindness, justice, and righteousness in the earth (Jer 9:24), who causes sun to shine and rain to fall on both the evil and the good (Matt 5:45).
I can pray for things, I suppose. We can all present our requests to him, and ought to. No harm is done by asking! but he will not be manipulated, not even by tears--though he will treasure them. (Psalm 56:8)
I trust him to love me, even though sometimes I am afraid perhaps he doesn't. I trust him to forgive me, even though I know I don't deserve it. I trust him to listen to me, even though sometimes I doubt if he's there. I trust him to care about what I desire, even though he doesn't always give it to me.
At least, I try to.
There is a quotation from one of my favorite books that sums up how I think about God, often. In a few short sentences, it speaks for me better than I have been able to speak for myself. C.S. Lewis writes in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,
"Safe?...'course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the king, I tell you."
Ah, so.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
No Pain, No Gain!
Or, in my case, any pain is my gain. In other words--I survived my first-ever half-marathon!
Impossible, you say? I'm tempted to agree with you, except the fact is I seem to be sitting here and typing these words, which means I must be alive, which means that I didn't die during the incredibly taxing physical ordeal that I put myself through two days ago. I still can't quite believe that I a) drove up to San Francisco early Saturday morning, b) ran the half-marathon segment of theNike Women's Marathon early Sunday morning, and c) drove all the way back to Los Angeles on Sunday night.
Next time, I am so taking an airplane.
But yes, I said next time! The fact is, I had a blast! And--are you ready for this?--I actually ended up running pretty nearly the whole thing. Though I admit I use "running" in the loosest possible sense, meaning "jogging at about the same pace as a really fast walker." Today I am terribly sore, although massive amounts of ibuprofen and naproxen have done wonders to keep me from keeling over and/or sobbing from the physical trauma sustained by my still-in-shock body over the course of 13.1 miles (which I "ran" in just under three hours).
I have been walking like an old lady ever since. Actually no--I think an old lady would get around better than I can right now. An old lady with a walker would beat me in a footrace today.
Come to think of it, I want a walker. Ouch!
At least the route was beautiful. I adore San Francisco, and even though it was a bit foggy (I couldn't see the Golden Gate Bridge, though we passed right by it), I thoroughly enjoyed running along the Embarcadero, up past the Presidio, and then down to Baker Beach and the Great Highway before heading through Golden Gate Park...all of which brought back memories of my time living in the Bay Area a few years ago. In fact, the first part of the route exactly coincided with a route that I rollerbladed as part of a Friday Night Skate event in the city, and during which I was injured when some drunk guy in a car through a bottle out the window and it hit the railing along the path where we were skating, so that it broke, and I got caught in all the flying glass, and sustained a cut on my elbow that led to two whole stitches (after four hours in the emergency room) and a little scar that looks purple when it gets cold out. Ah, yes...good times in San Fran!
But I digress, as usual. Back to the half-marathon!
I did well for the first nine miles, but then I had to walk part of the way up an apparently never-ending hill...I picked up the pace again on the way down. There came a point, actually, where walking hurt more than running. I know that sounds like a big fat lie, but it isn't. However, that said, the last two miles were brutal and I had to walk a bit there too. However, I did succeed in running across the finish line, where I and the other finishers were met by about 20 guys in tuxedoes with gift boxes from Tiffany's on silver trays--our reward for making it to the end of the grueling race. The boxes, I mean, not the men!
(I am still not sure, actually, if I appreciated that final finishing (ha) touch or not. I mean, after all, let's face it--a girl does not exactly look her best after running 13 miles! At least, I sure as heck don't.)
Oh well. The point is, I--who never knowingly, or particularly willingly, ran more than a mile or two at a stretch in her entire life, and with no training whatsoever, actually ran a half-marathon, and I am still around to tell the tale (in probably a lot more words than were striclty necessary, of course!)! In other words--I did something crazy and I lived! Wow, maybe I should try bunjy jumping next!
Or maybe not. Unless they have studly guys in tuxedoes waiting at the bottom of the jump. Then I might.
Impossible, you say? I'm tempted to agree with you, except the fact is I seem to be sitting here and typing these words, which means I must be alive, which means that I didn't die during the incredibly taxing physical ordeal that I put myself through two days ago. I still can't quite believe that I a) drove up to San Francisco early Saturday morning, b) ran the half-marathon segment of theNike Women's Marathon early Sunday morning, and c) drove all the way back to Los Angeles on Sunday night.
Next time, I am so taking an airplane.
But yes, I said next time! The fact is, I had a blast! And--are you ready for this?--I actually ended up running pretty nearly the whole thing. Though I admit I use "running" in the loosest possible sense, meaning "jogging at about the same pace as a really fast walker." Today I am terribly sore, although massive amounts of ibuprofen and naproxen have done wonders to keep me from keeling over and/or sobbing from the physical trauma sustained by my still-in-shock body over the course of 13.1 miles (which I "ran" in just under three hours).
I have been walking like an old lady ever since. Actually no--I think an old lady would get around better than I can right now. An old lady with a walker would beat me in a footrace today.
Come to think of it, I want a walker. Ouch!
At least the route was beautiful. I adore San Francisco, and even though it was a bit foggy (I couldn't see the Golden Gate Bridge, though we passed right by it), I thoroughly enjoyed running along the Embarcadero, up past the Presidio, and then down to Baker Beach and the Great Highway before heading through Golden Gate Park...all of which brought back memories of my time living in the Bay Area a few years ago. In fact, the first part of the route exactly coincided with a route that I rollerbladed as part of a Friday Night Skate event in the city, and during which I was injured when some drunk guy in a car through a bottle out the window and it hit the railing along the path where we were skating, so that it broke, and I got caught in all the flying glass, and sustained a cut on my elbow that led to two whole stitches (after four hours in the emergency room) and a little scar that looks purple when it gets cold out. Ah, yes...good times in San Fran!
But I digress, as usual. Back to the half-marathon!
I did well for the first nine miles, but then I had to walk part of the way up an apparently never-ending hill...I picked up the pace again on the way down. There came a point, actually, where walking hurt more than running. I know that sounds like a big fat lie, but it isn't. However, that said, the last two miles were brutal and I had to walk a bit there too. However, I did succeed in running across the finish line, where I and the other finishers were met by about 20 guys in tuxedoes with gift boxes from Tiffany's on silver trays--our reward for making it to the end of the grueling race. The boxes, I mean, not the men!
(I am still not sure, actually, if I appreciated that final finishing (ha) touch or not. I mean, after all, let's face it--a girl does not exactly look her best after running 13 miles! At least, I sure as heck don't.)
Oh well. The point is, I--who never knowingly, or particularly willingly, ran more than a mile or two at a stretch in her entire life, and with no training whatsoever, actually ran a half-marathon, and I am still around to tell the tale (in probably a lot more words than were striclty necessary, of course!)! In other words--I did something crazy and I lived! Wow, maybe I should try bunjy jumping next!
Or maybe not. Unless they have studly guys in tuxedoes waiting at the bottom of the jump. Then I might.
Friday, October 21, 2005
A Quick Note
Well, the day that I never thought would actually arrive is now upon me. I speak, of course, of Sunday, October 23rd--the day when I will attempt to walk, possibly even jog, a half-marathon in San Francisco. The unliklihood of such a thing is really beyond my best abilities to communicate, so I won't even try. I will just say three little heartfelt words, which will sum up the situation as I see it quite nicely:
Pray for me.
I leave tomorrow morning at 4am, driving to San Francisco with a friend who is doing this crazy thing with me. The race is 7am on Sunday morning. I'll be coming back Sunday night so that I can be at work on Monday morning. And yes, I know that I am insane.
Oh, and yes, I believe I owe you all an updated picture of myself, since everyone voted YES in the comments on my last post. I have not forgotten! I will keep my promise, after I get back from San Francisco.
Assuming I live through the weekend, that is.
Love and kisses to my adoring fans--here's hoping I live long enough for you to adore me for many more years to come!
Pray for me.
I leave tomorrow morning at 4am, driving to San Francisco with a friend who is doing this crazy thing with me. The race is 7am on Sunday morning. I'll be coming back Sunday night so that I can be at work on Monday morning. And yes, I know that I am insane.
Oh, and yes, I believe I owe you all an updated picture of myself, since everyone voted YES in the comments on my last post. I have not forgotten! I will keep my promise, after I get back from San Francisco.
Assuming I live through the weekend, that is.
Love and kisses to my adoring fans--here's hoping I live long enough for you to adore me for many more years to come!
Monday, October 17, 2005
Hair I Am Again
You know the saying, "Idle hands are the devil's workshop"?
Well.
Tonight I decided I would change my hair back to its normal color, which is (I think) dark brown. It's been awhile, so I could be wrong, but that is the color of my roots, so I can't be too far off.
So I was just thinking that one of the funny things about hair dye is that when you mix together the developer and the coloring agent, sometimes it really doesn't look like anything when you drip it on stuff. You wonder if it actually will do anything to your hair, because it seems to be almost clear. And then you look down at, say, your leg for example, where perhaps (hypothetically) you spilled a big glop of it while you were applying the dye, only you were too hasty to clean it up quick, because you thought, "What's the big deal? It's clear!" And then ten minutes later you see this huge dark bruise-like spot that doesn't look anything like the stuff that dripped there (it was practically clear when it dripped, remember!), but does look very much like the color you are trying to change your hair to, which I guess is good because that means your hair will indeed turn that color, so no need to worry about that, but now you have to worry about how on earth you are going to get this big bruise off of your leg. Oh, and the dye has also perhaps hypothetically seeped a bit around your forehead, and gotten on your hands, so now you look like you enjoy playing in dirt and not taking showers. You start to feel just a little bit anxious about the fact that you have to go to work tomorrow and look, you know, sort of grownup and professional--not to mention clean.
You know, I really really shouldn't do the hair dyeing thing late at night. Or unsupervised, come to think of it.
Well.
Tonight I decided I would change my hair back to its normal color, which is (I think) dark brown. It's been awhile, so I could be wrong, but that is the color of my roots, so I can't be too far off.
So I was just thinking that one of the funny things about hair dye is that when you mix together the developer and the coloring agent, sometimes it really doesn't look like anything when you drip it on stuff. You wonder if it actually will do anything to your hair, because it seems to be almost clear. And then you look down at, say, your leg for example, where perhaps (hypothetically) you spilled a big glop of it while you were applying the dye, only you were too hasty to clean it up quick, because you thought, "What's the big deal? It's clear!" And then ten minutes later you see this huge dark bruise-like spot that doesn't look anything like the stuff that dripped there (it was practically clear when it dripped, remember!), but does look very much like the color you are trying to change your hair to, which I guess is good because that means your hair will indeed turn that color, so no need to worry about that, but now you have to worry about how on earth you are going to get this big bruise off of your leg. Oh, and the dye has also perhaps hypothetically seeped a bit around your forehead, and gotten on your hands, so now you look like you enjoy playing in dirt and not taking showers. You start to feel just a little bit anxious about the fact that you have to go to work tomorrow and look, you know, sort of grownup and professional--not to mention clean.
You know, I really really shouldn't do the hair dyeing thing late at night. Or unsupervised, come to think of it.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Procrastination in the Running
Ok, so remember how I said awhile back that I had signed up to do a half-marathon in San Francisco at the end of October? Perhaps you might also recall how I said I wouldn't wait til the last minute to train and get ready for it.
And if you know me well at all, perhaps you are already snickering because you know what I am about to say, which is: of COURSE I waited til the last minute! I have done absolutely no training whatsoever, unless you can call eating whatever I want and not exercising at all "training." I'm figuring you probably can't without lying, and I don't like to lie. It's unhealthy--kind of like my eating habits.
But I confess to feeling a little nervous about this whole event as the day (Oct 23!!) gets closer, so last night I went for a 2-mileish jog, and actually succeeded in jogging the whole time, instead of walking for 10 minutes, jogging for two, walking for 20, jogging for one, etc. I was pleased to note that I might be in better shape than I thought. But then again, two miles is a far cry from the length of a half-marathon, which is 13 miles. Yikes!
It's strange to think that in my early twenties, I was an avid exerciser. I was in the gym five days a week, 1-2 hours a day, lifting weights, stairclimbing, treadmilling, the works. It was such a short-lived era, and not one which I am particularly nostalgic for--though maybe I am just a little nostalgic for the body that went along with that era.
But apparently not nostalgic enough to say no to In-N-Out burgers, Dr. Pepper, chocolate, red wine, and all the other bad-idea-if-you're-training-for-a-half-marathon-or-if-you-just-want-to-live-til-you're-sixty type of foods.
Let's face it: this half-marathon was a terrible, terrible idea. I don't honestly know how I am going to survive. I don't know if I'm going to survive. I am feeling a little depressed now at the thought of my possibly imminent demise.
Well, but on the bright side, if nothing else, this whole experience should make for a very entertaining post when it's all over, assuming that I do in fact live through it and don't die. (See how willing I am to sacrifice myself for the amusement of my dear readers!)
And if you know me well at all, perhaps you are already snickering because you know what I am about to say, which is: of COURSE I waited til the last minute! I have done absolutely no training whatsoever, unless you can call eating whatever I want and not exercising at all "training." I'm figuring you probably can't without lying, and I don't like to lie. It's unhealthy--kind of like my eating habits.
But I confess to feeling a little nervous about this whole event as the day (Oct 23!!) gets closer, so last night I went for a 2-mileish jog, and actually succeeded in jogging the whole time, instead of walking for 10 minutes, jogging for two, walking for 20, jogging for one, etc. I was pleased to note that I might be in better shape than I thought. But then again, two miles is a far cry from the length of a half-marathon, which is 13 miles. Yikes!
It's strange to think that in my early twenties, I was an avid exerciser. I was in the gym five days a week, 1-2 hours a day, lifting weights, stairclimbing, treadmilling, the works. It was such a short-lived era, and not one which I am particularly nostalgic for--though maybe I am just a little nostalgic for the body that went along with that era.
But apparently not nostalgic enough to say no to In-N-Out burgers, Dr. Pepper, chocolate, red wine, and all the other bad-idea-if-you're-training-for-a-half-marathon-or-if-you-just-want-to-live-til-you're-sixty type of foods.
Let's face it: this half-marathon was a terrible, terrible idea. I don't honestly know how I am going to survive. I don't know if I'm going to survive. I am feeling a little depressed now at the thought of my possibly imminent demise.
Well, but on the bright side, if nothing else, this whole experience should make for a very entertaining post when it's all over, assuming that I do in fact live through it and don't die. (See how willing I am to sacrifice myself for the amusement of my dear readers!)
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Holy Exclamation Points, Rex Morgan!
I've noticed that I've been using a lot of exclamation points in my titles lately. So of course I am reminded of dramatic comic strips such as "Rex Morgan, M.D.", "Mary Worth" and "Apt 3G", which make extensive--one might be tempted to say, gratuitous, if one were being uncharitable--use of the exclamation point.
Rex Morgan and his cronies must lead very exciting, deeply meaningful lives, because every single sentence that isn't a question ends in a decisive "!". (Hmm, come to think of it, I believe many questions actually feature the emotive symbol, right after the question mark.)
Every event in life is vitally important in a dramatic comic strip--even lunchtime. I remember one "Rex Morgan" episode that I actually cut out of the newspaper because it made me laugh out loud, even though I know it was supposed to be very serious and dramatic (which, I'm sorry, only adds to the hilarity). There were these two women, and one of them was exclaiming (of course) over the fact that she hated somebody who was mean to her. The other woman comforts her in exclamatory tones, saying that the mean woman "is always like that!" Then she urges her friend to join them for lunch because "we're having pot pies!"
Pot pies! Why, they make everything better!! I'd say that's worthy of two, maybe even three "!!!"! Wow!!!!!!!
Of course, "Rex Morgan" is hardly the only comic strip that is guilty of wildly unjustified excessive emotion. I mentioned a few others before, but the one that really comes to mind is "Batman," which features the jittery, excitable Robin and all of his quintessentially explosive "Holy this-or-that" commentary, such as, "Holy hummingbird feeders, Batman!" or perhaps "Holy bad people, Batman!" (oh wait, that last one didn't make much sense...well, most of his exclamations didn't).
Good old Robin!
Well, in the course of writing this, a co-worker stopped by my office who has just returned from doing a marathon in Chicago (which he ran in just a little over three hours! If that isn't exclamation-point-worthy, I don't know what is!). I told him about how I am supposed to do a half-marathon in San Francisco in less than two weeks, and how I haven't done any training for it, and he looked at me like he wanted to exclaim a few things of his own, like maybe "Are you crazy! You idiot! How could you not be training for it! You'll never make it!"
Oh wait, I think that is actually my conscience exclaiming those things at me! Well, it's right! I am crazy! And I also love exclamation points!!
Can't you tell?!?!
Rex Morgan and his cronies must lead very exciting, deeply meaningful lives, because every single sentence that isn't a question ends in a decisive "!". (Hmm, come to think of it, I believe many questions actually feature the emotive symbol, right after the question mark.)
Every event in life is vitally important in a dramatic comic strip--even lunchtime. I remember one "Rex Morgan" episode that I actually cut out of the newspaper because it made me laugh out loud, even though I know it was supposed to be very serious and dramatic (which, I'm sorry, only adds to the hilarity). There were these two women, and one of them was exclaiming (of course) over the fact that she hated somebody who was mean to her. The other woman comforts her in exclamatory tones, saying that the mean woman "is always like that!" Then she urges her friend to join them for lunch because "we're having pot pies!"
Pot pies! Why, they make everything better!! I'd say that's worthy of two, maybe even three "!!!"! Wow!!!!!!!
Of course, "Rex Morgan" is hardly the only comic strip that is guilty of wildly unjustified excessive emotion. I mentioned a few others before, but the one that really comes to mind is "Batman," which features the jittery, excitable Robin and all of his quintessentially explosive "Holy this-or-that" commentary, such as, "Holy hummingbird feeders, Batman!" or perhaps "Holy bad people, Batman!" (oh wait, that last one didn't make much sense...well, most of his exclamations didn't).
Good old Robin!
Well, in the course of writing this, a co-worker stopped by my office who has just returned from doing a marathon in Chicago (which he ran in just a little over three hours! If that isn't exclamation-point-worthy, I don't know what is!). I told him about how I am supposed to do a half-marathon in San Francisco in less than two weeks, and how I haven't done any training for it, and he looked at me like he wanted to exclaim a few things of his own, like maybe "Are you crazy! You idiot! How could you not be training for it! You'll never make it!"
Oh wait, I think that is actually my conscience exclaiming those things at me! Well, it's right! I am crazy! And I also love exclamation points!!
Can't you tell?!?!
Monday, October 10, 2005
Come On, Dance!
I am not a very good dancer. But there are some songs that, when I hear them, I simply cannot stay still. One of them is apparently "Walk of Life" by Dire Straits; when it came on my iTunes at work, I was air-drumming, seat-dancing, the whole nine yards. It's a good thing no one walked by and saw me, because they probably would have thought I was in the throes of some sort of seizure. (Did I mention I am not a good dancer? Exactly.)
Well, come to think of it, they might have walked by and I wouldn't have noticed, because the music was turned up in my headphones. Hmmm. Best not to think about that.
Ha! That reminds me of a funny story, and since I have nothing else to do at the moment, even though I am at work (God, I love this job), I will tell it to you.
It was the year 2000 and I had just started my job at a magazine publisher's in the Bay Area. (Oh, I am already laughing, and I haven't even started the story yet! Ahem...ok.) So I was working with mostly older ladies, two of whom worked at desks very close to mine. They were very nice, gentle, pleasant people who did not seem like they would really enjoy music by, oh, Creed for example.
Well, I brought in some CDs one day, and popped in (you guessed it) Creed's first album. Since I didn't want to bother the ladies with my music, I put in headphones, and then I cranked it up.
About half an hour later, I got up to do something, took off the headphones...and realized I could still hear the music. I had put the headphones in the wrong jack!!! Everyone had been listening to the music all along! All these poor women subjected to Creed. Oh, the shame...
And as if that wasn't bad enough, because they saw I was wearing headphones they all thought I must have some sort of hearing problem, that I would turn up my music so loud in my headphones that they could hear it on the other side of the room!
Yes, it was one of my embarrassing moments...but by no means the first, the last, or even the worst. (So many of them to tell about, so little time.)
Back to our regularly scheduled topic, I'd just like to say that another good get-up-and-dance-around song is "Crash" by the Primitives.
"Superman" by Five For Fighting, on the other hand, is really not a dancing song at all.
Well, come to think of it, they might have walked by and I wouldn't have noticed, because the music was turned up in my headphones. Hmmm. Best not to think about that.
Ha! That reminds me of a funny story, and since I have nothing else to do at the moment, even though I am at work (God, I love this job), I will tell it to you.
It was the year 2000 and I had just started my job at a magazine publisher's in the Bay Area. (Oh, I am already laughing, and I haven't even started the story yet! Ahem...ok.) So I was working with mostly older ladies, two of whom worked at desks very close to mine. They were very nice, gentle, pleasant people who did not seem like they would really enjoy music by, oh, Creed for example.
Well, I brought in some CDs one day, and popped in (you guessed it) Creed's first album. Since I didn't want to bother the ladies with my music, I put in headphones, and then I cranked it up.
About half an hour later, I got up to do something, took off the headphones...and realized I could still hear the music. I had put the headphones in the wrong jack!!! Everyone had been listening to the music all along! All these poor women subjected to Creed. Oh, the shame...
And as if that wasn't bad enough, because they saw I was wearing headphones they all thought I must have some sort of hearing problem, that I would turn up my music so loud in my headphones that they could hear it on the other side of the room!
Yes, it was one of my embarrassing moments...but by no means the first, the last, or even the worst. (So many of them to tell about, so little time.)
Back to our regularly scheduled topic, I'd just like to say that another good get-up-and-dance-around song is "Crash" by the Primitives.
"Superman" by Five For Fighting, on the other hand, is really not a dancing song at all.
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