gonna do it anyway

I am slotted to run in the Cincinnati Flying Pig Half-Marathon this weekend. By "slotted," I mean that I paid big bucks (err, big for me) for the registration cost and reserved a hotel and made plans with equally insane family members and.....

The forecast is screaming thunderstorm all weekend. I have weather.com trained to tell me if my workouts are going to be comfortable outside and it is clearly screaming "NOT" for Sunday morning.

Am I scared? UBETCHA.

Am I gonna do it anyway? I'm telling myself that I am. I'm telling myself that I am. I'm telling myself that I am. I'm telling myself that I am. I'm telling myself that I am. I'm telling myself that I am. I'm telling myself that I am. I'm telling myself that I am. I'm telling myself that I am. I'm telling myself that I am. I'm telling myself that I am. I'm telling myself that I am.


fighting the not-good-enoughs

I don't care who you are or what you've accomplished in life, the not-good-enough demons have struck you.

At least, I know that they have struck my closest friends, my dearest family, and me one-thousand time over. I can sometimes sense their impending arrival like the darkening, dampening, and still pre-storm sky. Then always suddenly and surprisingly they are there, shouting at the top of their lungs in my very voice, that I have yet to do anything good enough. (Question: How did they perfect that voice imitation? And can I go to that acting school??)

Theologically, it's true. It was the not-good-enough demons that locked Martin Luther in his personal despair, confessing for hours upon hours in his young monastic life. The reality of being human is that some of our noses are big and crooked, some of us can't sit to read a book if it killed us, and others have the coordination of Steve Urkel. We aren't good enough.

I'm not good enough. I'm just... not.

But that's only telling half of the story. The other half is the supernatural part, the part that exceeds all expectations of good-enough.

I have to remind myself that it is because of the not-good-enoughs that Good Friday ever came to pass. Peter had a serious bout of the not-good-enoughs on Good Friday. He walked away from his friend, the guy he was pretty sure was the Messiah. Not only was he guilty of denying the faith, he was a bad, not-good-enough friend.

Sometime after the resurrection, Jesus made breakfast on the beach with the disciples. Jesus sat with Peter and he didn't rehash the denial details. He didn't get in on the salacious gossip of who else hid in fear. Jesus looked forward. Jesus looked at Peter in love, in his eyes he saw good-aplenty. Jesus saw in Peter a man ready to share that good-aplenty. Jesus refused to hear the not-good-enough voices and trusted Peter to feed his lambs.

Thank goodness, John told us that story, told ME that story. I will likely never be good enough by my carefully constructed self-standards, but I trust that God's view of my worth has little to do with me and everything to do with The Good-Aplenty.


don't whore out my human rights

Yes. I said that. And I meant it. Because I am A-N-G-R-Y. Because I read this. Did you know that vacation is a human right? It is in Brussels.

Maybe I sat through one too many U2 concerts in which the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights was read.

Maybe I know too well that actual human rights are violated on a daily basis right underneath our self-righteously entitled noses.

Maybe I think that the concept of human right, though a secular conception, has a sacred value, a value bestowed upon us when we were created in the image of the living and eternal God.

When we declare the right to vacation a human right and deem it equal to the right to freedom of thought, right to life, liberty and security of person, and the right to be free from slavery or servitude, we demean the value of human rights. We demean the plight of those whose rights are violated. We demean what it means to be human.


deafening silence

I can't breathe due to the overwhelming amount of pollen in the air. Things aren't actually silent in these parts, more wheezy and hacktastic. During this silent but wheezy time, I checked two things off of my mighty life list.

#49: Seeing Chuck Berry: Live the Duck Room

The experience was the most endearing musical treat. An elderly man, well past his prime, donning his sparkles and his sailor cap, singing his famous music with old friends, family, and a room full of adoring strangers. Saint Louisans, buy your tickets. You won't regret it. Legends don't live forever.

#5: Bike the Missouri Wineries along the Katy Trail

I cajoled a large group of friends to undertake this 28 mile adventure with me. We worked our hineys off to get to each place, but the memories we made will be precious to me forever. It was an amazing day of beautiful weather and a testimony to the friendships I have in St. Louis. The picture doesn't speak to its glory.

I don't have the funds to plan any of my travel items, so I am brainstorming things I can make to get closer (albeit only slightly) to my goal of making 1000 wonderful things. Suggestions are welcome. I am reading The Infinite Jest which has 1000 pages each of which require the energy to make one wonderful thing. Perhaps if I finish, we shall call it even?


grieving the impossibilties

There is a strange side-effect to making a dramatic life decision:

Grief over the choices not taken.

A buyer's remorse, so to speak.

Within excitement, there is doubt and fear and a general "just shut-up about it" feeling.

I need to grieve in peace.

While much is gained, much is lost.


looking like a loser

On the cross, he looked like the world's biggest loser: someone who claimed divinity, being shown up by a bunch of haughty religious leaders and a swarm of soldier punks.

On the cross, he was weak, mocked, dying.

And still somehow, his heart burned with compassion for the people. He asked that they be forgiven. He offered freedom to his fellow crucified. He knew what no one else knew: power doesn't win.

Love doesn't exert power over others. It serves those whose need is great. Love is sacrificial and difficult.

Ultimately, love brings a new kind of victory. A victory that has defeated the need to be powerful. A victory that celebrates the beauty of sacrifice.