It's ten in the evening and I'm still awake. That doesn't happen much. But I was up watching a movie, and I realized today that the triathlon is coming up in two weeks from tomorrow. Exactly two weeks. O.O I know it's only sprint distance, so really not that bad. And I know that I will do just fine. But man I have a lot of momentary panic attacks. To where I'm wondering just what I signed myself up for. I mean, what was I thinking? I know that I will get through it just fine. I know that I will be really pumped once it actually gets going. I also know that once I finish it I will feel accomplished, probably very excited and babbling about doing it again next year. I know myself well enough to guess my reaction. But that doesn't stop the gut-wrenching fear that twists my stomach into knots some days. I'll have to get out and be athletic. In public. Around other people. Around much more athletic people.
I don't know how many of you realize this about me, but I'm a wee bit competitive. Not to where I can't enjoy a game that I'm losing, but I will definitely fight until the bloody end to try and make a come back. And when it comes to physical activities, welll..... maybe I get into it. So despite knowing that I will make a decent show of it, why can't I just get a grip on myself and not get so gosh darned nervous? Because I'm human. Because I fear failure. A lot.
Failing at something I'm sincerely trying to be good at is not only frustrating, but terribly depressing to me. I live by the philosophy that there is almost nothing you can't do if you just put your mind to it. "Where there's a will, there's a way", as the saying going. So doing my best and still coming up short is one of my worst nightmares. On that note, Romans 3:23 is a particularly hard passage for me: "for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God". I feel like I've failed before I've even begun trying, and that just crushes me. The prideful side of me wants to beg for a chance to try deserve God's grace. But then I take a look at my everyday life, and the amount of times and ways that I fail in the tiniest of things is staggering. Mind-blowing. Astonishing. But that's exactly why God's grace is so unfathomable. I don't deserve it. At All.
In fact, I deserve to be cast away and giving a one-way elevator ride downwards to Hell. I really believe that I do. When it comes to God I am unfaithful, fickle, and half-hearted most days.
But He still loves me. He still wants me. And He still picks me up when I fall, and holds me when I cry. That is true love - not the hollywood crap type of love, but true agape love. It's a love that keeps on going, even when I fail to return it. God is many things, but first and foremost He is a God of love.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Laughter Is Life
Four months without a single post. Oops. Well, I'm writing now, so that's what counts, right?
My life isn't very exciting right now. I work 40 hours a week. I'm doing a sprint triathlon September 7th, so I either get up insanely early to workout, or I get up less insanely early and workout after work. Of course somewhere in there I have to eat, clean, play with my nieces. Oh yeah, and I've been told doctors recommend about 8 hours of sleep a night. Hmmm... and since I'm car-less, I walk or bike most places. Does anyone else think there aren't quite enough hours in the day? I sure do. Gracious me, if there were even two extra hours..!! I could do everything, be everywhere.
I would be superwoman.
Well maybe not. I enjoy watching my TV shows too much. If probably waste those extra hours watching just one more episode of Ugly Betty. Maybe it's a good thing there are only 24 hours a day.
I recently spent 9 days on the Westside. It was delightful. Saw people I haven't seen in a couple years, saw my dog, went to the Seattle Aquarium (I never went in the three years I lived there...), rode the new-ish Ferris wheel on the boardwalk (I'm not a fan of heights, so that was an interesting ride), wandered around pike place market, and drove a stick shift car up some of Seattle's fun hills (by fun I mean I was terrified I was going to roll all the way back down the hill before the clutch engaged. Pullman hills in no way compare to Seattle hills, for the record). Many things went wrong with the trip. Rides bailed, people were working when I was free, train tickets require you to sell a kidney to buy, I realized I have a pathetic amount of willpower when it comes to working out on vacation, and I drove through the majority of Seattle rush hour traffic. That's just a few of the straws on the camel's back.
But the best part of the trip? I realized something about myself. Halfway through the trip I decided that everything falling apart was kind of...hilarious. I mean really, very few things about the trip happened at all how it was originally planned. I was very frustrated for the first half, but finally I made the realization that I had two choices: be frustrated and cry, or enjoy the comedy that my life had become. As I detest crying, I obviously chose the latter option.
The point of that ramble is that I find myself faced with that choice a lot. Laugh or cry. Laugh or yell. Laugh or hide in shame. And 97% of the time, I choose to laugh. You live longer (scientific fact!), you feel less awkward, and life always looks brighter. I think God blessed me with the gift of laughter, I mean, face it, I laugh a lot. Laughing is fun. And sometimes people laugh with me, and sometimes they laugh at me, but either way I'm prolonging their life, so that's a good thing, right? Oops, I'm rambling again. My point is I think that happiness and contentment in life is, at least in part, a choice. You can't control the weather, the overtime you have to work, your relationship status, your friends, your family, your car breaking, etc etc. What you can control is how you react to it. Laughter won't solve all your problems, but I firmly believe it will help you deal with them.
My life isn't very exciting right now. I work 40 hours a week. I'm doing a sprint triathlon September 7th, so I either get up insanely early to workout, or I get up less insanely early and workout after work. Of course somewhere in there I have to eat, clean, play with my nieces. Oh yeah, and I've been told doctors recommend about 8 hours of sleep a night. Hmmm... and since I'm car-less, I walk or bike most places. Does anyone else think there aren't quite enough hours in the day? I sure do. Gracious me, if there were even two extra hours..!! I could do everything, be everywhere.
I would be superwoman.
Well maybe not. I enjoy watching my TV shows too much. If probably waste those extra hours watching just one more episode of Ugly Betty. Maybe it's a good thing there are only 24 hours a day.
I recently spent 9 days on the Westside. It was delightful. Saw people I haven't seen in a couple years, saw my dog, went to the Seattle Aquarium (I never went in the three years I lived there...), rode the new-ish Ferris wheel on the boardwalk (I'm not a fan of heights, so that was an interesting ride), wandered around pike place market, and drove a stick shift car up some of Seattle's fun hills (by fun I mean I was terrified I was going to roll all the way back down the hill before the clutch engaged. Pullman hills in no way compare to Seattle hills, for the record). Many things went wrong with the trip. Rides bailed, people were working when I was free, train tickets require you to sell a kidney to buy, I realized I have a pathetic amount of willpower when it comes to working out on vacation, and I drove through the majority of Seattle rush hour traffic. That's just a few of the straws on the camel's back.
But the best part of the trip? I realized something about myself. Halfway through the trip I decided that everything falling apart was kind of...hilarious. I mean really, very few things about the trip happened at all how it was originally planned. I was very frustrated for the first half, but finally I made the realization that I had two choices: be frustrated and cry, or enjoy the comedy that my life had become. As I detest crying, I obviously chose the latter option.
The point of that ramble is that I find myself faced with that choice a lot. Laugh or cry. Laugh or yell. Laugh or hide in shame. And 97% of the time, I choose to laugh. You live longer (scientific fact!), you feel less awkward, and life always looks brighter. I think God blessed me with the gift of laughter, I mean, face it, I laugh a lot. Laughing is fun. And sometimes people laugh with me, and sometimes they laugh at me, but either way I'm prolonging their life, so that's a good thing, right? Oops, I'm rambling again. My point is I think that happiness and contentment in life is, at least in part, a choice. You can't control the weather, the overtime you have to work, your relationship status, your friends, your family, your car breaking, etc etc. What you can control is how you react to it. Laughter won't solve all your problems, but I firmly believe it will help you deal with them.
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