Surprises are the spice of life.
We had a surprise brewing for a few weeks now. I kept it from the kids, excitement building in my own heart. It had been almost three years ago since we saw these sweet faces, flown straight from Italian soil to our side of the ocean!
One night previous, Elsie had just been in tears for her cousin, Hannah. She missed her so badly.
Few words are needed. It was a blessed week and a half. So thankful we were able to see them a few times and cousins were able to connect over dress-ups, dance-parties, and sidewalk chalk.
In the between days when we weren’t at Matthew’s parents house visiting, we kept busy with the usual school and business of life. Soon I will post pictures of our entire family together. What a beautiful week it’s been.
running
Three-Four, Open The Door
March has a tendency to speed right along, almost as if it’s anticipating spring as much as the rest of us are. It’s been a super fun-filled month so far. Exactly three weeks until race day, the trail has seen a lot of my old sneakers. Between miles there has been much chocolate, a medieval feast with friends (we are studying that period of history together), an Ikea trip with my sister and nieces, furniture painting, cute kids, field trips and birthday celebrations with friends. There is much between the lines, many memories and blessings. Lots of words are flying about in my brain, unsettled as of yet; waiting for the unseen breeze to stop their spinning. 
But right now, today, thirty-four is shaping up to be fabulous.
What My Husband Did Behind My Back
Some days hit you like a blast of cold water being unexpectedly tossed over your head during a hot shower. Usually motherhood is a series of such moments, as startling as a scattering of sharp legos all over a bedroom floor: you know they’re there, but you can never be quite prepared for their sting. Such was Friday. Actually, ever since Tuesday my brain had been thinking it was Friday. When Friday at last arrived for real, I was ready for it to finish its comic series of events. At the time, they were not-so-funny events. 
During nap time, Betty came wandering downstairs to where I stood in the kitchen. She sidled up next to me, smoothed her hair and said with a coy look on her face, Is it perfect, mama? I looked a bit closer, thinking she had wet her hair in the bathroom. Nope. There was no hair to wet. She had given herself a generous haircut, right in front. Perfect wasn’t the first word that came to mind.
A teeny tiny part of her bangs remain after her perfect haircut.
My day just kept getting better. While making dinner, which involved mixing up a batch of pizza dough, I grabbed the garlic powder to put a shake of it into the batter. Obviously, I flipped open the wrong side of the cap, as a huge pile of garlic powder dumped like an avalanche into the wet dough. I quickly scooped out as much garlic powder as I could, muttering under my breath. The next best thing to do: double the batch and enjoy the garlic.
As the evening wore on, small things started to get to me. There was mud where I didn’t want mud. There wasn’t hair where I wanted hair. There was arguing. There were interruptions. I have a spot where I like to hide in my room. If I sink down low enough, no one knows I’m there. Friday they seemed to instinctively find me. Especially the nap-less one. I felt like the mama elephant in the book Five Minutes Peace. Eventually it became clear: There is no avoiding the masses, I thought. It’s time to jump back in the boat. So I stopped hiding and plugged on through the evening, mustering up as much strength as I could.
Despite my resolve to be happy when Matthew got home, he was met with a more wiped-out-than-usual countenance. With much grace, he just hugged me. I started going over the difficulties of my day. He took my head in his hands and said something which really caught my attention. It was as startling as a blinding light shining in my eyes: Aim, the kids have never complained to me about you. I needed to stop doing what they never do to me. After looking at Betty’s hair, he let her know it’s not okay for her to cut her own hair, then he turned to me and said simply, She’s three! Yes, indeed. This will pass. It will grow. She learned. Move on.
My emotions were stabling, but not quite steady. I had one last complaint to offer my unwavering husband. I was feeling a bit vengeful towards the bathroom scale, and did a little “Woe is me” routine. Yes, I have been exercising about twice a month. Yes, I am no longer in my twenties, so that matters now. Still, I wish that scale showed me a little slack. I was going to go to the downstairs bathroom to make sure the toilet was flushed and there was no pee all over the seat before our company arrived. Surely my day was on the upswing.
Matthew went upstairs to get cleaned up from work and I decided to check our email before checking the cleanliness status of the powder room. I was a little shocked at what I saw. Next I checked facebook, and the top news in my feed was this:
Surprise anniversary gift for my wife: registering her for the Philly love run half marathon!!! She doesn’t know yet!! Wait till she checks FB or email! Let the training begin! Giddy with excitement!
Let’s just say, I had to go into the downstairs bathroom to compose myself. I spotted a lime on the laundry room floor before walking back into the kitchen. I picked it up and thought pretty seriously about beaning Matthew with it when I saw him. I’m glad some of our company had just arrived and was standing in the kitchen with my sneaky husband, when I emerged. Otherwise, that lime would have made swift contact with his head. He grinned and rubbed the goosebumps off his arms. Risky, risky move, buster.
Since Friday, I’ve thought a lot about difficulties and training. Running this morning in 30-degree weather would not have happened if I had not been presented with this challenge. (My husband knows me pretty well.) Plain and simple, we tend to shy away from difficulties. We want to go from point A to point C without passing through point B. This is impossible. We want to learn a piece of music without ever practicing. We want our kitchen to be spotless without lifting a finger. We want to lose weight without the sacrifice of watching our diet and putting in any effort to exercise. I so desperately want to run 13.1 miles without having to go out there every single day and run one mile or two. It just isn’t going to happen, no matter how much my desire is for it to happen that way. The richness of any accomplishment is deeply rooted in the amount of time it required to succeed.
In the same way, our Heavenly Father knows what’s best for us. He sees that finish line, so very distant from our earthly eyes. He tells us things very similar to what Matthew has been telling me: “You’re stronger than you think, Aim.” My grace is sufficient in weakness, Jesus tells us. Like any good trainer, He pushes us outside our comfort zone. That is where we see results. When you walk the same path over and over, never stretching yourself to go a bit further, you may miss the incredible view just up ahead. When we run the same mile and never push our lungs and our legs past that initial burn, we never discover we have the ability to do a bit more. Jesus totally knows how hard it is. He never once said life would be burden-free, but He invites us to lay our burdens on His capable shoulders. He never said He would only give us as much as WE think we can handle. But He said “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.” He will give you just a bit more than you think you can handle, so you’re stronger to go the next mile. It’s cold, it’s nasty sometimes, but He always sticks with us.
So I start my thirteen-mile journey… one step at a time.
Pig Tails and 100-Mile Trails
You and me, we were always best buddies, Elijah told Jack. They sat on the couch today, looking at photo albums together. I love keeping photos of the kids close at hand so they can flip through them and tell stories about “days gone by” with great gusto, imagination and sometimes slight exaggeration. The summer boredom bug has been hitting everyone at random times of the day. To combat it today, everyone is writing down recipes for their library summer log. It is fabulous. There is nothing better than cobwebby brains getting a good dusting with a pencil and paper or a good book to read.
Summer brings out the pig tails as well.
Today Betty exclaimed about the birthmark on her arm: I have a birk!
Today Elijah found my old walkman and box of tapes. This was a delightful novelty to share with my 21st century kids.
This weekend Matthew was supposed to run for 24-hours. Long story short, it was cancelled at the last-minute, supposedly because of the heat… which was not even as bad as the week prior had been. Telling an ultra-runner it’s too hot to run is like telling an Eskimo it’s too cold to fish, Matthew said. It was a difficult day of disappointment for us both, along with the hundreds of runners involved. The months of training and preparation both physically and mentally is hard to describe. The running bug has not been quenched and running 100-miles is about as magnetic to him as a puddle is to a kid. It doesn’t make sense to most people, but aren’t you glad we’re not all made to run, play, cook, write, paint or sing the same way? In all areas of life, instead of labeling someone as weird, we should admire them for how amazing God made them. Some to labor for hours on a still-life painting. Some to perfect a recipe. Some to build unbelievable structures. Some to conquer math problems. Some to write poetry. Some to raise children. Some to see beauty in the ashes. Some to run 100 miles. Stay tuned.
Seventy-Four Miles
Today was seeped in tears and thick emotion. A let down, I suppose, of the hefty weekend. My tears were last night. The kids’ were today.
I really, really hope that people realize that when I admit to feeling sad, frustrated, disappointed, etc. (normal human emotions) this does not equate that I hate my life, my circumstances, nor wish things upon myself that can not be. I truly love my life. But I am not always happy, cheerful, well-groomed (stop by today and you’ll see!), nor eager. This weekend tested my every last bit of endurance. As I hugged Matthew last night, though, I was sincere as I whispered, “I would do it again tomorrow if I could.” I love and support my husband and we’re a team.
The race started with an ok sleep the night before (not good, when you’re anticipating being up for the next 24 hours). The morning unfolded with a leisurely cup of hot tea and yummy breakfast outside Lloyd Hall on Boathouse Row in Philadelphia. The rain was coming down since 4am, which added an aspect of dreariness and well, dampness.. We really didn’t prepare for rain. But, at 10AM the shout was given, and the 24-hour race commenced.
Matthew looked good for the first 16 miles before hitting an unexpected early wall. It took another 16+ miles of climbing to get over it, and finally by the afternoon he was feeling much better. The rain stopped. Things looked sunny. After puddle-running for most of the day, his feet were complete prunes, so he switched shoes and clothes and then kept going.
Around 1AM things got worse when I offered to run with him and couldn’t keep up. We’ve hashed through this now, so I can write about it. I truly thought he needed someone with him, and he didn’t know how to gently say that I would hold him back. So I ran the 8th loop. Sort of. Actually, I had not run 8 miles since his race last year. It messed with his concentration, as he felt the need to take care of the one who was supposed to be taking care of him. On the next, the ninth loop, things went from bad to worse. Two miles from the finish line a biker patrol found him sitting down, and since he was a bit slow to respond, called in to the medics who called in to me. We met at the medical tent where he was fine, just exhausted. By the time he had checked out fine with the doc, his mental game was toast and his body just started to shut down. It’s amazing how far your body can push when your mind is still telling it that it’s fine to keep going. Once that voice clicks off, the body literally stops. It believes the words, “I can’t,” unless they’re not uttered.
So, around 4AM, he had run 74 miles and was finished. It is mind-blowing, really. I drove 74 miles last week. The disappointment came from not finishing 100+miles, and stopping before 24-hours. It was a hard hit for both of us. I am so proud of him. We could have let a root of bitterness build up between us. I could blame myself and so could he, but we both chose to move on, learn, and grow from this experience. He inspires me and so many others with his determination, drive, and seemingly crazy goals. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Beach Memories and a Little Lesson in French
Today we drove into Philly to pick up Matthew’s race packet. Twenty-seven is my new favorite number, for my favorite guy who will be sporting bib number 27 for 24 hours. My butterflies are still in full flight, but he’s calm as a cucumber, reading on the couch across from me. The two little girls are at Grandpa & Grandma’s, and the older three are here with us at the Weldon’s.
I finally went through my fourth of July pictures when we were at the shore. There weren’t very many to choose from, since we were sick and my camera spent a lot of time in its bag. But these are my favorites:
I had so much fun clicking pictures of my little sneaker-stomper this week. Betty proudly walks around and our latest game has been to practice saying words together. Her favorite is when I say, “Diaper,” the way she says it. She laughs a belly laugh then mimics “diapur!” Try to imagine saying diaper with a French accent. Betty has the perfect French accent. “One, twooo,” with the sweetest French “U” sound. If you are wondering what I mean, try these six steps to make a perfect French “u” sound:
- Open your mouth.
- Say O.
- Draw out the O until your lips are where they would be to make a W sound.
- Purse your lips as tightly as you can.
- Keeping your lips pursed, say E.
- Voilà the French U!
Ma petite fille douce!
Stay tuned for post-race news next week! Thanks so much for praying for us!
Running Through The Night and More
After my last weepy post, I have been blessed by the hugs, reassurances, and reminders of faithful friends all around me. It is difficult for me to know the balance between honesty and what could come across as, “Pity me, please,” that is so often inundating our lives… or walls. It is my true hope that I can be real both in life and in writing. That what you see is what you get. I have daily struggles, and validating that fact is better than ignoring them. I want to convey a well-balanced story of my heart and life, without being depressing or making one cock their head and wonder if everything is always perfect. My life is an open book, and I hope I can be courageous enough to show you not only the beautiful parts of it, but also the difficult and sometimes ugly. Ultimately, everything points to Jesus, the Author and Perfector of my faith.
This week has been full of spring-time activities. A long-anticipated visit from an old friend. Night-time talks on the front porch. Roses from our garden in full bloom. Putting a bathing suit on Betty for the first time.
Strawberry picking with the kids.
The boys decked themselves out the other day in this fashion. Paperclips in their ears, gaudy jewelry, and the usual bling all over Jack. They love to be tough and strong. They can also be so gentle and loving. I am constantly amazed by this sweet balance that both they and their Daddy possess.
Speaking of Matthew… he took me on a date Friday night. We enjoyed live music at Burlap & Bean, with some delicious coffee and tea. We had some much-needed time to reconnect and pray together.
Tonight he is running through most of the night in preparation for his ultra-marathon next month. We will be posting more details about it soon. I plan on interviewing him myself to answer the many questions poised his way. In fact, if you have any questions about his goal of running 100 miles in 24 hours, please post them in the comments, and I’ll be sure to add them to the interview!
God painted a beautiful rainbow this evening. I ran outside in the rain with a cardboard box on my head, squealing at the sight. I always try to imagine I’m Noah, seeing a rainbow for the first time. It always works, and I’m amazed every time. God’s promises will never ever fail.
26.2, Because 26.3 would just be Too Much
That was one of thousands of signs we read this weekend at the Philly Marathon. Matthew was proud to run for his brother, Will, who recently moved overseas and couldn’t run as planned. His bib said, “Will”, and so the only people who cheered him on as “Matt” was us! Nadine, Heidi & I embraced the early morning and walked about 7 miles total ourselves! The free parking spot I found was in and of itself about a mile away.
First we ran to the one-mile marker and saw him whiz past us with a smile. The next stop was Starbucks for us. By the time we got through that line and walked one block to where the runners would be coming towards their 6-mile marker, he wasn’t far behind. To think, he ran 5 miles while we stood in line. I was nervous that I might miss him, because he was planning on ditching his jacket at that point. He actually saw us first, and I exchanged his jacket with an orange. Oranges have been known to see him through many miles.
About that time with the oranges and the 100 miles. A lot of people have mentioned how a marathon must be a walk in the park compared to the ultra he did last summer. It was just as mentally challenging, however, and since he was conditioned to run this distance and not much farther, it was plenty physically challenging as well.
One of my favorite things to do was yell people’s names as loud as I could and tell them how strong they looked, and what a great job they were doing. That kid running next to Matt in the picture above was pacing his dad. I saw them at the finish. I was super proud of their team! There were others we saw, helping loved ones get through the last mile. Our wonderful friends came to support Matthew, and Patrick ran a few miles with him. Our kids gave away high fives. It was where hardcore meets strength to carry on.
That was the best part. The determination, the will to do it. Standing on the sidelines was very special to me. Having gone through the pain of running farther than I thought possible, I can truly understand how huge an encouraging word from a complete stranger can be. It was a blessing to rally around Matthew, and others, and say, “Good job! You can do it!” Life is so much like that. Don’t we all need to be held up, encouraged, motivated and inspired? We all need to also be holding up, encouraging, motivating, and inspiring others! Is our walk just about the outward? See, in running, you can’t fake it. You either finish, or you don’t. You might puke, get a cramp, have to walk, or maybe cry. But you finish. In life, I think we too often fake it. We look so good. It’s so easy to pretend that we’re such good Christians because we do or don’t —- fill in the blank. It’s really scary not to fake it, though. Believe me, I know it. I really really don’t like to confess my weaknesses. I struggle daily with the same blasted issues that I slow down to a walk. Then sometimes I stop and sit on the ground and contemplate not finishing this race. This stinkin’ hard race of life. This race that was laid out before me by the One who ran it first. Jesus is cheering us on. He wants us to be more than conquerors. He wants us to get off our lazy butts and DO what He’s created us to do. Maybe it’s calling it quits on that addiction. Maybe it’s calling someone up and confessing our attempt to hide our stupid failures. Maybe it’s putting one foot in front of the other and getting uncomfortable. I know it requires vulnerability to be victorious.
I love the church. I don’t necessarily mean that time when we all meet together at the same time on Sunday morning, though I love that time. I love it when the church behaves like a well-conditioned athlete. Each body part is healthy and doing it’s share. When one person is unable to do something, another steps up to carry them along. I know that if Will could have run, he would have, but I love the picture of Matt running in his place because he wasn’t able to do it. It was such a privilege. How often do we let people take the hard stuff for us? And how often do we take the hard stuff for another person? Jesus did.
I love going to races. I’m always pumped up in my spirit. It feels like I just attended a huge huge church service, where thousands of people, some unknowingly, gave glory to God for His life, and the life He gave us to live. Our life should be more like one huge race. Our life, in real time, is messy. You can’t pretend to have blood, sweat, and tears while you’re running. In life, we need to be okay with showing our weak side and letting others help us. We also need to find someone’s name on their bib and yell it out as loud as we can, because it might just be the one last thing they needed to carry them on today. Let’s run for REAL!
Guess what I know? You can do it!
August Don’t Rush
Something about it being August makes me want to soak up every last ounce of summer fun. We’ve had plenty of slow-moving mornings and late night adventures. We’ve had blueberry picking adventures and ice-cream suppers.
The other night after I finished reading the creation story to Elsie I asked her, “What did you learn today? What did God make?” After thinking a few seconds she replied heartily, “Waffles!” Then, to go on and show you what a conversation with her is like, she proceeded to say, “God made my legs!” Then, pointing to her knees she said, “There’s something in my legs.” “What?” “Stars!” I said, “No, silly. Bones!” She proceeded to go on, “I don’t like to eat bones. Bones are for dogs. I like white dogs. I don’t like big dogs. Big dogs lick me on my foots and my hand.” Then, she is reminded to look at her hands. “I need to get my nails off. Mom, can I go to Heidi’s house to get my nails off?” You see, Aunt Heidi always paints her nails. That, my friends, is just a smidgen of what a conversation with Elsie is like.
As we were driving last week Nadine very confidently said, “I have a GPS in my head and it’s telling me that it might rain today.” Elijah, just as confidently said, “That’s a thermometer.”
Summer is full of hoses and swimming pools and ice-cold cokes. It’s the sweat on your body and the drippy wet circle left under your cup after it’s been sitting on the table for one minute. It’s the smell of tomato vines and basil leaves and the sound of children splashing.
For me, this summer begins the start of running minimalist-style. My shoe-maker styled my old sneaks the way he styled his, and it’s training me to run on my fore-foot, not my heel. Fun! So far my foot injury has been non-existent and I can feel other muscles that have never been used in running before, getting a good work-out. I’m up to two miles without stopping, but haven’t reached the “I love running” stage yet. 
Oh, August, please don’t rush past me like the rest of your summer friends have.
The Ultra
There is an emotion so deep and strong that is built inside each one of us that is brought out only in very momentous occasions of our lives. I remember feeling it when I first met Matthew and our eyes spoke to each other for the first time. I also felt it when we got married, and when I kissed each of our five children for the first time. This is a super-strong God-made emotion that surpasses intention or want. It’s real, it’s alive. I haven’t put my finger on it yet, but I had it this weekend.
This weekend was incredible. We set up camp on the lawn between Lloyd Hall on Kelly Drive and the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Our tent was right near the sign that said, “No tents beyond this point”, and the Philadelphia Water Works. It was a clear, blue sky. No humidity.
My man set up our tents before heading up to the start line. The kids and I hung out and it just then hit me, “What on earth are we doing here?” My mind couldn’t wrap around the idea of what Matthew was doing and I wanted to enjoy every second and at the same time skip to the end and have it all over with. We walked to the start/finish line of the 8.4 mile loop and saw Matthew cross, looking strong. A couple hours later Will & Rebecca arrived which encouraged me so much. We chatted, played, and drew his name on the sidewalk with chalk, hoping to encourage his tired body the next time it crossed that way.
By the 3rd lap, something revolted and Matt took a bit of a hard hit. Perhaps not enough nutrition early on, perhaps a lot of things. He rested for about 45 minutes, and when the nausea had worn off he hit the ground running again. After the 4th lap he was allowed to have pace runners with him, to keep his pace, encourage him, carry his water, whatever he needed.
Our good friends, Patrick and Mary June arrived and MJ set off as his first pace runner for lap 5.
Before lap 6, we enjoyed a bit of a break with Matthew before he and Jonny P took off. It was also at this point that he met Dave & Orpha, who were going to run with him through the night. It was incredible to experience this fellowship in something so grueling and intense, with people we’ve never even met before!
By the time the 6th lap was finished, it was about 9:30PM and he put on his reflective vest for the night running. Lap 7-8 Orpha ran with him, and he was hitting some walls. She carried oranges, water bottles, bananas, M&M’s and chips all at the same time, while keeping up his pace and pushing him to go on. Meanwhile, back at the camp, the kiddos had gone to bed. However, some children from the one tent had laid hold of some chocolate covered espresso beans, which were eaten by all, and therefore the children in aforementioned tent did not sleep for a very. long. time. We laugh now. At midnight a different race began, and each runner was lit up with glow-sticks and reflective gear for the “Midnight Madness Run”.
By lap 9 it was close to 2AM. Dave ran with Matt and experienced some crazy moments with him when he got a bit delusional and unsure of where he was and what he was doing. Again, he held a couple oranges, bananas, and water bottles. That became a joke among the pacers. It was really intriguing how Matthew became more and more child-like and vulnerable as the hours went on. He was determined and yet was so weak and vulnerable and had to trust what the pace runners told him. But the mental blocks were there and to ease them we did what we could. One of those things was to carry oranges, because he was a bit paranoid that the refueling stations would run out. We figured that he ate about 20 oranges in all.
Laps 10-11 Patrick ran with him. He hit some really hard walls there. It was a bit after 7AM when he came around to start his last lap. Earlier that night, around the 7th lap, he told me that he was going to run 12 and that he wanted to run the 12th one with me. He was pretty emotional about it, and so I knew that I had to do it. I had brought my running stuff with me just in case, but wasn’t really planning on running at all, since I hadn’t run since May because of an injury. When the sun came up, I laced up my sneakers, nursed Betty, and headed to the start line.
He took a ten-minute break, but shook off the lure of the showers to keep going. His brother Will arrived to run the last lap with him as well, so the three of us set off. He was hurting pretty badly by this point. I was just amazed by the physical and mental stamina he found to get through that last lap. There was nothing left, absolutely nothing, except the thought that he had to finish, he said.
I’ll never forget seeing that quarter-mile marker. There was a click in his brain that went on, since he had told himself he would run the last quarter-mile. After a fast, painful walk, he changed to an even more painful run to finish off, marking 101.5 miles total. It was a strong emotion, building up inside of me. Watching him hurting, being one of the people that pushed him through the pain and didn’t try to soothe it, was hard. Knowing he would feel broken and beat for days afterward, was hard. But it was worth it. I’m so proud of him for setting an incredibly specific target and hitting it bulls-eye, no question, no wavering. A sky-high, seemingly impossible goal and reaching it dead on. Finishing. Not just saying he’d do it, but actually doing it. That is something that could change the world, if everyone set out to accomplish exactly what they said they would do. I’m inspired. Is it hard? Um, yeah. Does it hurt more than anything? Um, yeah. Is the reward worth it? A resounding yes!
I was so incredibly awed by another thing this weekend. The unsparing servant-like attitude of each of the pace runners. Seriously, who would wreck up their sleep schedule, exhaust themselves and their kids, and selflessly give, with absolutely nothing in it for themselves? Who would do it for a friend, and especially for a stranger? I was dumb-founded with this thought all weekend, and I’m still incredulous. I can not wrap my head around it. What a great example of what Christ did for us: serving us, giving up what was easy, doing what was hard. Can we wrap our minds around it? I know I can’t. I keep saying “thank you” and it doesn’t seem a fit enough word.
This crazy-deep emotion builds up in me when I think of Jesus, who ran the race before us. I’m thankful my faith is not built on emotion, but I know that it sure is beautified and enriched by it! This is a feeling of God’s pleasure in you. What Adam must have felt when he looked at Eve. What Noah felt when the ark door opened and he saw dry ground. What Sarah felt when Isaac kicked in her womb for the first time. What people feel when they have accomplished something they know God created them to do, and they do it well. A painting, a garden, a delicious meal. An intricate surgery, a solitary climb, a height-defying jump. A letter, a photograph, a song. To do things that to others may seem impossible, but with God all things are possible. That’s what God wants us all to experience.
Grow Old With Me 