To Fathers

I reckon this would be more appropriate as a Father's Day post, but it's been on my mind and June is a long way away.

Fathers, love your daughters well. This is important, so I'm going to repeat that for you.

Fathers, love your daughters well.

Fathers, love your daughters well.

You will make mistakes, and she might think you're a doofus or a nuisance, but she needs you. So love her - she loves you.

I'm going to let you in on a secret, fathers; it's the reason why I wanted to charge you with this post. Fatherless daughters have a hole in their lives that never fully heals. At best, it's just an old scar they carry. How do I know? Because I'm one of them.

My parents divorced when I was very young, and I never knew my father. I have no memories of him, and I never saw more than a picture of him growing up. Learning the reasons why my parents split led me to gratitude for not growing up under a man wholly unprepared for fatherhood, but that didn't change the fact that I wanted someone to call "dad."

Now, I was incredibly blessed growing up. My mom is a Christian and raised both me and my sister to see God as our Father, and that was invaluable to me as I matured. Because of my firm foundation and essential relationship with the Father, I didn't become one of the statistics so often associated with fatherless children. All credit and glory to God! But that doesn't mean I was fine, or even that I am now. It just means that my "daddy issues" were covered by God's grace and I didn't act out anywhere near as severely as others in my situation might have. All through my adolescence, I wanted a father figure, someone to look up to. And I was indeed blessed with a number of godly men in my life that I could look up to. However, there was no one I could have seriously called "daddy."

God has been teaching me more about what it really means to have a dad, and what it means to call Him Abba ("daddy"). I got one more piece to the puzzle the other day when I was reading one of my friends' blog posts. At the end of the post, she invited her readers to stop a moment and ask God to tell them what His name is for them. I did, and you know what I heard, almost immediately? "My little girl." Hearing that was such a blessing; it was one of the few times I've been so happy that I cried.

Obviously, there is healing in hearing the Almighty God call me His little girl, but it's also important for me and daughters like me to see fathers loving their little girls. We didn't grow up with it, and you better believe we watch you. How else can we learn what fatherhood looks like with human men (as opposed to abstract concepts of God the Father)?

So, from a girl who knows how much it means to have a loving father, I charge all you men with daughters: Love her well! And make sure she knows she's your little girl.

I'd Like to Thank the Academy...

On October 20, 2012, I officially reached a level I have never gained anywhere else.

Click to enlarge. (Seriously. Do it.)

One thousand pageviews, y'all!! Thanks for clicking on those links I've been shamelessly posting on Facebook!

(Ein tausend, un mil, one thousand... Sorry, just testing out the sound of it.)

I know this milestone is small potatoes for a lot of bloggers, and I'm not writing this one to get my name out there or anything. But it's still a first for me, and therefore well worth the 5 minutes I spent making those pretty fireworks in Paint!

To those of you who have been following along since I first went public with Move Along, a special thank you to you. Your patience is laudable, your tolerance for sub-par writing commendable, and your support invaluable. So, thank you, loyal readers.

Here's to another thousand hits!

Peace.

Out on a Limb

"And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns." (Phil. 1:6, NLT)

Sometimes I'm just in awe of how true this verse is, how amazing it is that God continues to work in me, crafting me to be the person he designed me to be.

This past weekend was the Ladies Retreat at my church, and it was absolutely incredible. The Spirit was there, and he was moving each of us toward a more intimate relationship with him. The topic for the 2-day retreat was "A Call to True Community." Specifically, we talked about being vulnerable with each other and actually living with each other as we are. It seems like it's the default for people to put up walls and hide what they're struggling with, and when everyone does that, no one really knows anyone. That's not what community is supposed to be. And if we can't be honest with ourselves in the relatively safe environment of the church family, how are we going to be honest with the rest of the people in our city? The ones who need to see the hope of Christ through us?

The biggest issue I wound up dealing with during the retreat - and the one God has already been working on intensely for a few weeks now - was trust. Trusting other people to share the burdens I tend to carry by myself and trusting God to show up if I step out on a limb when he says to. There's a lot more work to be done in those areas, but that's not discouraging to me; trust is something I'd say at least 90% of all Christians struggle with their entire lives. So at least I'm in good company.

I do want to share a couple stories with you about what God started doing immediately to keep me from backing down once I plunked my life down on the table. Some brief background information so these make sense: The idea of getting up to speak in front of a group doesn't scare me until it's time to actually do it, and even when I am okay with it, my voice still shakes (and my hands and the rest of me) while I'm up in front of everyone. Also, I don't usually initiate conversations with people, especially not with strangers; I'm better about it when it's my friends, but it still takes a conscious effort most of the time.

Alright, so the first awesome thing God did was during our last session of the retreat. It was open mic for us to share with the group of ladies what God's been doing in our lives, where he's leading us next, or whatever. The woman who opened the session started us off, and while she was talking I was thinking of all these cool things I could talk about that God was doing with me. After a few plans of what I could say went through my head, I realized I was thinking about me and not God, and started trying to work out what he wanted me to say. My ideas kind of faded away with that gear shift, and when the woman opened the floor for the next person to come up, I had no idea what I would say. I didn't even know if I was supposed to go up to the mic - I've been in similar situations when I was told not to go up. And as the seconds dragged on and no one was making a move to get up, I struggled. My heart started beating faster, a knot started tying up my stomach, and I kept thinking, "Is it me? Am I supposed to go up?" In the midst of the silent chaos, I heard a "yes," and I stood (already starting to shake like a leaf). I still had no idea what to say.

That's what made that experience so incredible for me. Because I had no idea what I was going to say, I knew God would speak. I wound up talking about something I hadn't really considered all weekend, but that was tied up in my theme of trust, anyway. It was going out on limbs for God, and trusting him to not let me down when I did. I hope the words I spoke helped someone else there; even if they didn't do much, the act itself did a lot for me.

After the retreat ended and everything was cleaned up and put away, I had a brief break before working a night shift at Zoes. And wouldn't you know it? God had plans to put me to work there, too. All the Front of House employees were getting tasks, things they could do to improve areas they weren't as strong in. I found out later that one of my friends was tasked with selling at least 3 sports cups (big, refillable, Zoes cups) per shift for the week. But when the manager for the night called me aside when I came in for my shift, I didn't know what to expect. He told me about the task thing, and said I do really well with the physical aspect of the job - making sure tables are bused and cleaned, running food, etc. - but not so much with making connections and relationships with the customers. Of course not! Why would I start a conversation with a stranger when I had work to do?

I had to smile, though. This manager had hit the nail on the head. And the task he assigned me for the next 3 weeks, starting that Saturday? Start at least 3 conversations with customers, either over the counter or at their tables, for every shift I work. At the end of the shift, recap the conversations directly with the manager on hand or write them down and leave them. I found the whole thing extremely humorous and timely, since I'd just finished attending a seminar on building relationships and community AND talked about going out of my comfort zone when I'm called to do so. The task may have come from the mouth of a Zoes manager, but it was straight from God! And you know what I've found since I started that task? People are really cool. And I hope this assignment will give me the practice I need to do this kind of thing on a regular basis, no matter where I am.

Anyway, that's what God has been doing with me lately. I'm excited to see what he'll do next. :)

"For I know the plans I have for you," says the LORD. "They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope." (Jer. 29:11, NLT)

Warrior Dash Aftermath

My first Warrior Dash is complete. 3.2 miles and 11 obstacles of EPIC. Check it out. (You can click on the images to see them bigger and in theater mode.)

The full course. We were supposed to have 2 more
obstacles - not sure why those were cut.

These are the thumbnails and descriptions for the obstacles we had.
FYI, Hell's Hill consisted of a big, steep hill and ropes to help us get up.

My official time was 46:37, averaging a 14:34-minute mile. Considering all the hills, the obstacles, and my preexisting crummy endurance levels, I call this a win. It placed me in the top third of female participants in the 20-29 age bracket, and in the top 39% of all 3,589 participants. More importantly, it placed me 2nd in the little group of friends I was running with. Pride = satisfied. (Now I can turn my competitive mindset back on myself!)

My clothes got a healthy coating of mud, of which there was plenty. In addition to the mud-specific obstacles, the whole trail was damp from a thorough dousing over an hour before our noon race time. I still need to hose off my shoes (and probably wash them after), but I got the rest of my clothes and my towels clean. Well, sort of. Anything white is now dingy (lucky I don't care). I had to wash that load twice, wiping the dirt out of the washing machine between cycles.

These are officially stained with awesome. (Also known as mud.)

Race bib, mud-stained socks, and finisher's medal.

That medal, while awesome, is not a prize or anything. It's a finisher's medal - we all get one. But, as participation awards go, this one is pretty frikkin' cool.

I prefer "conquered."

Finishers were supposed to get a free turkey leg and a free beer - I promise that's what was advertised at first, despite what the website says now - but we soon found out the turkey leg wasn't free. Oh well. One of my friends bought one anyway, and we all enjoyed our free beers.

Turkey leg! Beer! Fuzzy viking hat!

It was absolutely frigid outside (low 60s). Middle of the day, and I could see my breath, which usually doesn't happen until winter is upon us. Now, before the race, I thought this was perfect. I wasn't too cold, and I knew that cooler weather meant a better run. And I was right - I didn't notice the cold at all while I was running and sloshing through mud, or even when I jumped into some water that, in retrospect, was very cold. But after I finished the race and had a couple minutes to cool down, the temperature hit me hard. Getting dry(er) helped, but I definitely should have brought a sweatshirt and some sweatpants. I'll remember next year, that's for sure! (I wound up wearing the jacket in the picture for a while.)

The Warrior Dash was a lot of fun, and I'm really glad I did it. I'm happy with my time, but I know I can do better. I remember from my Cross-Country days that if you've still got energy left at the end, you didn't give enough in the race, and I could've gone at least another obstacle-laden mile. I did a lot of walking, too, which I discovered I actually didn't need to do much of once I caught sight of my friendly competition (he was jogging along, which meant I had to jog, too). I think I can shave 5-10 minutes off my time next year.

Hopefully there will be a race in Warrior, AL again next year. If there is, I'll have a better idea of how to train for the course. (Lots and lots of hill runs. Bleh.) Until then, I'll keep building strength and endurance! Warrior lifestyle, right? :)