As a rule, I’ve never been a numbers person. Math intimidates me. Probably why I was perfectly content teaching no higher than third grade. I first realized I might have passed my arithmophobia onto Natalie when she cried during a second grade multiplication timed test. Sorry, Nat. Once at a restaurant, I cried a little inside when Meagan gave me a hard time for pulling out the calculator to figure tax and tip as well as carrying the ones and tens columns on the actual check. Funny? I should’ve had Meg pick up the tab after that.

This week Dave and I, along with half a million of our closest friends, experienced a truly once-in-a-lifetime event. The 2024 Total Solar Eclipse. Living in the path of totality had its advantages. We didn’t have to hop on plane or drive anywhere. We walked a good fifteen feet onto our driveway and looked up into the sky. Not trying to rub it in, cousin Elaine, we do really feel bad that your three hour drive home to Chicago ended up taking nine hours.

Nonetheless, totatality worth it.

In fact, it far surpassed all my expectations. If I’m being honest, I really had none and didn’t see what all the hype was about early on. After all, we’d had weeks of extreme weather leading up to the big day. Meteorologists out here had their work cut out for them. It was like our third winter last weekend with a buffet of wind, thunder, rain, snow, and ice. And a 75 degree day thrown in there just to keep the hope alive.

I woke up on Eclipse Day to bright, clear blue skies and birds chirping. Lots of them. Maybe gearing themselves up for the big event as apparently they go oddly silent during eclipses. There was an unusual vibe in the air – like we were on the verge of something spectacular.

I hadn’t been able to do my typical long walks downtown with Miles lately as I strained a hip muscle (dreaded piriformis thang) last month trying to take down a dead tree in our backyard. The tree won. I haven’t been able to run without pain and just made the even more painful decision to defer my Carmel half marathon coming up this weekend to next year -ruining my ten year streak.

I’m okay with the decision now having wrestled until the last minute deadline to defer last Saturday. Disappointing for sure, but I’ve come a long way in that had this happened a few years ago, it would’ve hit me much harder on several levels. I prayed a lot for healing but even more for peace either way.

Since Dave’s recovery from his stem cell transplant last December (see previous post), he’s been kicking our butts walking more and at a decent pace. When just a few months ago you struggled to even walk a few steps around your hospital room, you have a new appreciation for those walks your wife dragged you on before. But the sentiment was not limited to Dave. I also had a new appreciation for our walks together. So when my second bout of piriformis syndrome hit last month (first time was back in 2017), all I really wanted was to be able to enjoy long walks with Dave pain-free.

Some days it’s been a struggle to just walk the 3/4 mile loop around our neighborhood. But on Monday’s Eclipse Day, I was determined to enjoy the gorgeous weather (it’s currently pouring down rain as I’m writing) with the anticipation that something extraordinary was about to happen. Miles and I walked seven miles that morning taking in the vibes from all the eclipse watch venues along the Monon Trail to City Hall. On the way back, we ran into a wedding party headed to their rooftop destination for their ceremony timed for the moment of totality. I had to ask why today? The groom answered with a blinding smile “We met in 2017 during the last eclipse!” Partial eclipse, but still – awww!

Speaking of blinding, I stopped so many times to take pics and chat with folks that it was now later than I’d planned to be out and didn’t bring my eclipse glasses with me. Miles and I picked up our pace and got home just in time to get settled on our front porch and driveway joined by Dave. Our neighbors were already out front – some with grandkids visiting as the school district had cancelled in-person school for the eclipse. It wasn’t long before I heard one of the kids exclaim “It’s starting!” I put on my glasses (AFTER stepping off the porch steps – you literally can’t see your hands before your face) and looked in the direction of the sun. Okay, I’m suddenly that eight year old kid across the street and yelling for Dave to get out here. Catching that first glimpse of a sliver of sun being blocked out was already amazing.

About 45 minutes later it was a sliver going the other way AND it felt noticeably colder! As 3:06 pm approached, the excitement level and my need to pee increased. No way I’m missing this now – I can certainly hold it 3 minutes and 29 seconds (expected duration of totality). As the skies darkened and totality hit, I heard a collective gasp from neighbors and Dave as well as “wow, whoa, and oh my goshes!” I was legit cold at this point. Apparently the temps had dropped 11.7 degrees in the ten minutes before and during totality.

We were all in awe is the best way to describe it.

In retrospect, I wish I’d geeked out before the eclipse and done more research on things like historical dates of totality (last one here was 1869), temp changes, effects on wildlife and doggos, as well as how to capture photos/videos. Would I have appreciated the experience more? Perhaps. But appreciating and being in awe are two different things. I can appreciate a well cooked ribeye without being in awe of it. Dave would beg to differ. I was genuinely in awe, moved, and affected in ways I didn’t expect by the eclipse.

The next day, which was cloudy, I was still trying to process what I had experienced. It was nothing short of brilliant. Majestic. Captivating. Mysterious, Awe-inspiring. I was about to add miraculous then paused. I tend to categorize the miraculous as things that are surprising, unpredictable, or against all odds. The eclipse was certainly no surprise or unpredictable – especially to a half million tourists who might’ve been angry on an astronomical scale had they showed up to find “Oh, oops, it’s actually happening NEXT Monday.”

Against all odds. That phrase is typically used when referring to overcoming great adversity, obstacles, or life-threatening situations. SO, here’s the real reason and inspiration for this blogpost:

2,103,025

The exact, precise number of cells from Dave’s follow up biopsy last month. I had called his doctor’s office this morning since we’d been waiting on final results of three tests. The first two had already shown excellent results, but the third would be the most definitive of his multiple myeloma (bone marrow cancer) diagnosis post transplant. When the nurse gave me the numbers, I think I asked her to repeat them three times as I wasn’t sure what I was hearing initially. And then I asked a couple more times what this meant.

“Of the 2,103,025 cells tested, less than 1 were cancerous.”

Less than one? Trying to wrap my head around that…

She must’ve sensed the amazement and/or confusion in my voice as she responded “yeah, I’m not sure why they even say less than one.” Perhaps for liability they can’t say zero?

Four months ago, Dave was at IU Hospital with a white blood cell count of less than one. Hemoglobin and platelets in the single digits as well. So to hear the report that there is less than one cancer cell is what I’d categorize as miraculous.

You know what? That’s just a typical day at the office for God. What I consider a miracle is something SO BIG, SO UNATTAINABLE that only God can take the credit. But God does the miraculous EVERY SINGLE DAY without fail. If we only knew and/or witnessed every single one, we would surely be overwhelmed.

This is the tenth year and 93rd post of the blog I began in 2014 after retiring from teaching. If I really think about it, every post is a miracle. In each post (chapter), I’ve attempted to articulate the miraculous – the foundation of which was me running my first marathon – something SO BIG, SO UNATTAINABLE, that only God can take the credit. Ten years later, this blogpost has become less about actual running or racing and more about every day life. Experiencing the miraculous each day.

My big takeaway from Monday’s eclipse – which hit me like an asteroid on Tuesday – is if God can create, direct, organize, orchestrate, implement, and present Monday’s magnificent eclipse then NOTHING IS TOO HARD FOR HIM! Not Dave’s cancer diagnosis, our businesses, our families, our friends, my nagging hip…nothing is out of His reach and care.

“God even knows how many hairs you have on your head.” Luke 12:7

And yes, Dave’s hair is growing back fast and furious!

My day to day life is in the very capable hands of the God of the universe. I knew this intellectually, but it took a total eclipse for it to finally hit home. I guess that’s what happens when you’re in His path of totality.

“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands.” Psalm 19:1

PC Bridget Melson via Erin Kvistad

I debated between that title or “Cancer for Dummies”(aka me) as it was probably the book I should’ve started out with when we first got Dave‘s diagnosis back in July. Even though I’d never heard of multiple myeloma or bone marrow cancer, I didn’t look up any books or resources as I was afraid of what I might read. The doctor was highly optimistic as we had caught Dave‘s cancer early. I didn’t want to read anything that might discourage me or make me think otherwise about a very treatable outcome. From the beginning, Dave stayed true to course with his steadfast, unwavering faith and trust in his Creator that this would all be just a blip on the radar – a small speed bump in life. I wanted to be just as unwavering.

I met Dave when I was 19 and he was 20. Over the course of 35 years of marriage. I’ve often been frustrated and at times annoyed that he didn’t show more emotion over things “normal people” would. I mean like he didn’t cry at the birth of either child granted he did claim to have gotten some dust in his eyes while giving his father of the bride toast at Meagan‘s wedding. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons God put us together – one of us needs to stay even keeled and not run amok with our emotions.

The first few weeks after more blood tests and a bone marrow biopsy (side note: the most ginormous needle you can imagine) confirmed the diagnosis, I was an emotional hot mess. I let my mind go to places it didn’t need. As has been the case since becoming a runner fifteen years ago, I found it therapeutic to take these emotions on a run. On one particular run, a thought occurred to me that literally stopped me in my tracks. For so many years now running and staying fit have been a huge priority and integral part of my life. It hit me on this run that one of the major purposes for staying fit and healthy was to ultimately live longer… to enjoy more days, and Lord willing, years with Dave. Suddenly I couldn’t help but think what life might be like without Dave. For the first time I had these overwhelming thoughts right there in the middle of the Monon Trail. I stopped mid stride unable to breathe, ugly crying as I said to myself “What’s the point of living longer if it’s without Dave?”

Much like when I am walking our dog Miles. I had to stop and shake it off. Like literally shook my head and body like a wet dog. I knew I’d let myself wander/wonder too far. I had to get off that train of thought immediately. Now more than ever I needed that verse that has gotten me through so many difficult races over the years such as my dad’s Parkinson’s battle, my mom’s Alzheimer’s journey, and even the decision to move from California. Every destructive thought, every debilitating emotion, every physical breath and step – take it all captive to the obedience of Christ Jesus. (2 Corinthians 10:5)

I did manage to pull myself together enough to run back home. That was definitely a low point on this cancer journey. The following days and weeks, along with more trail time with Jesus, I felt a new sense of calm and reassurance that may be it’s not all that uncommon to have these thoughts and emotions – perhaps completely normal. In fact, to experience this spectrum of emotions doesn’t make me less of a wife, mother, sister, friend, or neighbor. It doesn’t even mean I have less faith. It just means I am human.

I’ve had to remind myself of that conviction many times though over the last six months. Has it only been six months? It feels more like six years. The weekly chemo treatments began in July. From day one, we knew we were in good, capable hands. From his oncologist to his weekly injection/infusion nurse, we saw God’s fingerprints through kind, compassionate, knowledgeable, medical staff, one of whom I now call friend as we discovered very early on that we were both runners and members of Carmel Runners Club. To my delight and probably Dave‘s chagrin, every Thursday his amazing nurse Maria and I would chat about all things running including favorite marathons and upcoming races. Isn’t that what everyone wants to hear nonstop during chemo?

For the next five months this weekly routine was our new normal with splashes of refreshing visits from friends and family who flew out to support as well as pray for Dave. I took on the role of Dave’s personal chauffeur as we found the cycle of treatment left him high as a kite on Thursdays and Fridays from his superman steroids (to mitigate side effects) but also made it difficult to sleep. Those were the days he could plan on more work productivity, but then the crash would come Saturday to Sunday which made for built-in rest days on Sunday. If you know anything about Dave, you know he bleeds blue and gold (always surprised to see his blood collection actually red). So when his west coast Cal Bears team has a 10:30 PM kick off, it didn’t matter how tired he was from the chemo and roids; he was a fan through and through staying up for all of those games.

Speaking of side effects, one humongous praise was the very minimal chemo side effects Dave experienced from start to finish. He was told by doctors, nurses, and a couple of friends who are now in remission from various cancers, that we should keep buckets all over the house, office, and in our cars for all the nausea and vomiting. I’m happy to report not one of those buckets had to be used. One of his more uncommon side effects was vicious hiccuping. Funny as neither of us have hiccuped in probably the last decade, but for several weeks Dave experienced hiccuping to the point where he couldn’t sleep or talk. Fortunately, that also passed.

Everything seemed to go along somewhat routinely during the summer months until one Thursday when we showed up for his regular chemo appointment and usual lab work. Maria came in with lab results and said doc wants to hold off on the Velcade this week as your ANC (absolute neutrophil count) is below one. One is already pretty low along with his very low white blood cells, but below one means you are neutropenic meaning you are immune compromised. Extra precaution with foods (all the stuff you learn in microbio and food safety) as well as exposure to the public had to be taken. Interesting as the food part seems so counterintuitive – you would think cancer patients would need to eat stuff straight out of the garden – the freshest, most nutrient, abundant type of foods. However, we quickly learned when one is immune compromised you are relegated to canned, frozen, and packaged foods as well as all meats cooked to well done.

Not ideal timing as we had scheduled way before his diagnosis to drive up to Chicago to cheer Natalie on in her first ever marathon – the Chicago marathon, one of the world majors. Our hotel was paid for, excitement for Natalie and her year of training behind her, nothing – not even cancer – was going to stop us. So after getting the green light from his doc and nurse, we read up on necessary precautions and made the three hour drive to Chicago. Dave would not be at the finish line amongst the crowd of some 50,000 runners and maybe even more spectators, but he would at least be there to see her before and after.

The following week at Dave’s Thursday appointment his labs were back up to a more safe immunity level, not to say he could rush out and have a medium rare prime rib or anything, but he was somewhat out of the danger zone for now.

As we approached the tail end of these weekly chemo injections, it was time to meet with the bone marrow transplant specialist. We headed to downtown Indianapolis to the Simon Cancer Center, the first of many more trips downtown, and met with Dr. Abonour, one of the leading oncologists in the area. Come to find out, he is an avid ultra runner and cyclist. I happened to be wearing a race jacket to that first appointment (not uncommon for me as I have enough race apparel to wear something different every day for an entire year) which runners know is an invitation to ask runner questions. Dr. Abonour, after introductions with Dave and some necessary medical questions, proceeded to ask me more important questions such as what my finish time was for said race. We did not forget to talk about transplant details like what the stem cell harvesting would entail as well as his subsequent hospital stay estimated to be three weeks. Interesting timing as his last chemo injection would end up being early November then his cells get a chance to rest for 3 to 4 weeks before harvesting which puts us at Thanksgiving.

November 2nd is Meagan’s birthday, but it ended up being a birth date on a whole new level as that was Dave’s last chemo Thursday. Maria told him he could ring the “Finished Chemo” brass bell on the entrance wall of the infusion center, but we decided there was more to come so we’d wait to ring the bell. Boy, was Dave ever happy to be done getting jabbed as his poor belly now looked like a war zone. I said “Sorry to break this to you, honey, but your swimsuit modeling days are over.”

The next few weeks were a bit surreal. It felt odd to not have to drive Dave to chemo on Thursdays. In the next couple of weeks, the brain fog cleared and he was almost back to a normal sleep pattern. One of those weekends was Dave’s birthday. Beautiful weather, so we went for a walk at a favorite local spot taking the long path which we hadn’t done in quite awhile. Dave felt better than he had in a long time. “I’d forgotten what it was like to not have brain fog.” It was a glimpse of new hope for me to have Dave back after seeing him so down for months. Much needed hope reminding me that life may not be the same as before we started this journey but could be even better.

We’re both not ones to admit to each other when we’re the “d” word…depressed. Especially since his diagnosis, I never wanted Dave to know how bad I was feeling. I mean really, how could I complain about ANYTHING when he’s the one with cancer? If we were both being honest, it had been an incredibly stressful, volatile, exhausting, depressing few months. We would enjoy this brief reprieve.

His famed prime rib roast being a close second, seeing the kids was priority this Thanksgiving. We were able to schedule his stem cell harvesting for the week after Thanksgiving which meant going in Monday for his central line to be surgically placed and the following day to begin the full day’s process of stem cell harvesting which could take anywhere from 1 to 4 days. Over Thanksgiving until harvest day, Dave had to self administer three injections every morning of filgrastim, a bone marrow production stimulant, in preparation for harvesting. So in addition to a massive rib roast marinating in my refrigerator, we had bags of injection needles in the fridge – funny juxtaposition.

Thanksgiving took on a whole new meaning this year. It was one of the best thanksgivings ever having Meagan and Nathan fly out from California and Natalie, Zach, and grand pup Herbie drive down from Chicago. Lots of laughs, playing games, short walks, and just hanging out at home. Just what the doctor ordered. Speaking of doctor, Dr. Abonour further confirmed he was the right doctor for us when he gave Dave the okay to enjoy that prime rib roast cooked to his liking. All was well in the world.

Stem cell harvest day finally arrived. It was in essence what we had been working towards since July with the weekly chemo treatments zapping those cancer cells, cleaning out “the garden” as his doctor first explained, zapping the weeds to make way for a new garden. We got to the hospital, bright and early Tuesday after Thanksgiving, and it was all systems go for harvesting. They would access those cells through the central line placed the day before as well as for all blood draws and transplantation of his clean cells back into his body. It was a fairly boring day, I mean really, when you’re at the hospital you want things to be boring, right?

So there he sat in his bed in the apheresis wing from 7:30 AM to 4 PM. Results from that first day were not available until later in the evening. We waited for a phone call from the nurse to say if they had collected enough cells on day one. Of course, that was the hope for many reasons but also because Dave did not want another day of lying around for eight hours not permitted to walk around or used a normal restroom. Unfortunately, we got a call in the evening saying we were close but they wanted him to come in the next day hopefully for just a half day of harvesting. Bummer. In the meantime, we updated several friends who had been praying for every step of the journey. I let them know we needed a second day of stem cell collection.

The half day we were hoping for turned into another full day as around one or two o’clock the guesstimate was he had 5.7 million cells per kg collected and doc wanted to see at least 6.0 for transplantation. The following week they would use half of the 6.0 and the remaining 3.0 would go into cryo reserve for Dave’s use (hopefully never), but would be available for up to twelve years. It was a little after 2 o’clock when the nurse said it was gonna be close as their protocol is to shut everything down at 3:30. About an hour left to get to 6 million. My 6 million dollar man. Where are my Steve Austin fans? Yes, I just dated myself there.

I messaged one of my friends who had been praying specifically for this day who’s also a marathon runner. I told her we really needed every possible cell to cross that finish line before 3:30 and that we were close. We needed 6.0. She promptly messaged back that she would continue to pray until 3:30. For the next hour, I prayed, picturing each one of those little individual cells crossing a finish line. Yes, once again, I have made this about running as Natalie and Meagan have joked with me about in the past: “Mom, do you HAVE to make everything about running?” Yes. Yes, I do.

That afternoon I sat along with my runner friend hundreds of miles away asking God for every possible cell to cross the finish line before 3:30. Shut down and flushing out the central line happened along with a triple check by three different nurses that they indeed had the correct bag of stem cells matched with the patient. Dave was asked probably a dozen times to spell his name along with his birthdate. Apparently if even one letter is incorrect, they would not be able to proceed with transplant and all would be for not. I sat and watched the nurse disconnect Dave’s bag – this little bag of filtered, cleansed, cancer free blood that would potentially save his life. I could not take my eyes off of it. When the technician showed up with his little blue cooler, I nervously joked with him if he was going to handcuff the cooler to himself like a nuclear football in movies. He did not laugh and proceeded to double check labels before leaving to bring it to the cryo lab.

We didn’t know exact numbers when we left, We got a call later in the evening that they had collected enough. I wasn’t sure what enough meant. Dave was just happy he did not have to go back for a third day. The next morning his transplant coordinator called about hospital logistics. I asked if she had exact numbers from the harvesting. She said yes. They were able to collect 6.2 which brought me to tears as we were only praying for 6 but got an extra POINT 2! I had to immediately message my marathon runner friend who had been praying with me that last hour. I said we got an extra 0.2 which we know, in marathon terms, the race all comes down to that last POINT 2 of a 26.2 mile course.

The next few days were spent in an organized frenzy, trying to wrap up work and projects before his hospital admit the following Tuesday. It got down to the wire that Monday on several projects but another praise of this whole situation is that several of Dave’s key managers stepped up to the plate and were able to allow Dave peace of mind going into the hospital the next day.

Tuesday, December 5, the day I had circled on my calendar and discussed ad nauseam with the transplant team for months, finally came. Not like I was expecting a suite at the Ritz or anything but I was pleasantly surprised when we checked in to his spacious room with a giant window. In fact, the entire BMT (bone marrow transplant) floor was light and bright with so much natural light flowing in from the walls of windows, large wide, expansive hallways, quiet, peaceful sitting areas, and two family lounges. There was even an area with exercise bikes, so of course I pictured Dave and I finally cycling together during his recovery. I had dubbed his weekly chemo infusion center “Club Riverview” with its massage recliners, fireplaces, and room service and now could add 3 East BMT to the club.

That first day, which actually nurses marked as day -1 on the whiteboard calendar in his room, was heavy duty chemo day – very different than the weekly chemo injections he had received for almost 5 months. This one was the granddaddy of them all. The one that we were told more than likely causes nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, mouth sores, and hair loss. To mitigate side effects, 30 minutes prior to the chemo infusion through his central line, the nurse brought him cups of ice. Chewing on ice causes the blood vessels in the mouth and stomach lining to constrict, which would hopefully minimize the chemo absorption in those areas. So there he sat in his bed chewing ice for 30 minutes until the nurse came with the actual chemo and more ice which he was to chew during the 30 minutes of infusion. But it didn’t end there. For two whole hours after infusion, he was to continue chewing ice.

I later told his bro and sis, Ed and Alice, who flew out to support Dave, that having them there in the room while he was chomping on ice for three hours definitely made the difference in having almost no side effects. If you’ve ever tried chewing on ice for an extended period of time you know it’s not easy and not fun, but somehow having Ed and Alice there laughing, joking, and even kidding with Dave about what they were prepared to do once the chemo kicked in (one of the two who shall go nameless brought a Sharpie to draw on Dave’s face at the opportune moment) made those three hours passed by more quickly. He really didn’t end up having mouth sores and had zero diarrhea. He had some mild nausea and only vomited once. Pretty amazing! If you are ever in that situation – which I pray you will never – when they say to chew on ice for three hours, do it!

I began this post saying I intentionally didn’t read up very much (only the absolutely necessary logistics). Not sure if it was better to know or not know certain effects way ahead of time. After the first week, I was expecting to walk into Dave‘s room every morning to find him completely bald. I began to think, wow – this ice chewing thing even prevents hair loss! But apparently that doesn’t come for 3 to 4 weeks. Sure enough that third week Dave saw large chunks of hair in the sink when he was washing his hair as well as on his pillow case, so he said “I think it’s time.” Meaning shave the head.

Not sure why, but I wanted to be the one to do it as his nurses had said they have the shave kit and could do it for him if he wanted. I think it didn’t actually matter to Dave as it was just another practicality, but I felt like I’d been with him every step of this process and this was just another step. Another mile marker in this marathon. Mind you, I’ve never used an electric shaver. The only time Dave let me cut his hair was early on in our marriage to save money. I’ve never been allowed to touch his hair again since then.

We were told by the nurse we needed to use the razor guard since his platelets were so low, he was at high risk for bleeding. As if I wasn’t nervous enough, but okay, here I go. I think I didn’t do too bad of a job being it was my first time and hopefully, only time. He didn’t look too bad. The razor guard left him with enough up top that he looked like a young, handsome Marine – not that he didn’t look young and handsome before. We had been joking the weeks leading up to this that if I shaved my head in solidarity, the joke would be on me since my hair grows incredibly slow and knowing Dave, his would grow back way before mine.

About those platelets… so that whiteboard calendar in Dave‘s room was updated every morning with three numbers from his daily blood draws: WBC for white blood cells, H for hemoglobin, and P for platelets. Every day we watched these numbers carefully. As I mentioned earlier, chemo/admission day was Day -1 and transplant day was Day 0. Fascinating procedure! They wheeled in a large metal container, which looked like it weighed a ton. One nurse would lift open the lid which allowed some of the -375° vapors to escape. It looked like a really cool (no pun intended) science experiment.

The nurse removed one pouch at a time. There were five total which contained half of the platelets that had been collected from Dave exactly one week ago. Each pouch was placed in warm water to bring to room temp. Then they would inject it through his central line. The whole process took less than an hour. Apparently it needs to be done within an hour or his stem cells become non viable. I didn’t know this until after the fact. Good thing as I might’ve been more focused on watching the clock instead of chatting with Dave making sure he got enough Jolly Ranchers to suck on for preventing a metallic taste in his mouth. These nurses had it dialed in as it wasn’t their first rodeo. But, wow, talk about time pressure – worse than when you’re looking at your Garmin approaching a finish line and potential new race PR.

After week one, Ed and Alice returned home to NorCal and passed the baton to my sister, Sandy. Just as I did with Alice, we walked a ton during those hospital visits which, in retrospect, I needed more than I knew at the time. I got to show off our famous Carmel Christkindlmarkt on one of those days Sandy was here. We didn’t spend much time there, went early to avoid crowds, and masked up. The change of scenery and vibe was a much needed breath of fresh air. The last night Sandy was here after coming home from visiting Dave, we took advantage of him not being home and watched the Taylor Swift Eras Tour movie. So good! Binged on junk food as well. We might’ve been feeling 22.

I drove Sandy to the airport the next morning then headed to the hospital. Flying cross country to support us was an act of sacrificial love, but when Sandy’s flight delay ended up being ten hours, man, did I feel bad especially since she had to go back to her classroom the next morning. Well, the next day was back to the airport for the next baton pass to Meagan. She arrived in time to witness her mom shave her dad’s head. Natalie and Zach missed all that fun as they arrived the following day. Probably a good thing as they might’ve made me laugh too hard or ugly cry – either resulting in a less than satisfactory hairdo for Dave.

Side note: my amazing family made sure to schedule their visits so I would never be alone for more than a day. It was such a huge blessing to have them here whether it was to walk countless miles (we had some of the best December temps) or commiserate with Dave about the hospital food. I probably logged more miles walking those first two weeks of Dave‘s hospital stay than I have in recent years. Good thing as the hospital cafeteria food had this power of making me hungrier. As someone who doesn’t usually eat lunch, I found myself grabbing pizza or tacos every day at the hospital. But none of us could complain as Dave’s food was far less appealing since it had to be fully immune safe meaning all fruits and vegetables washed in a special chemical as well as all meat and vegetables cooked beyond well done.

Dave grew up with a mom who knew how to cook good Chinese food. We’ve also dined in some acclaimed Chinese restaurants in the Bay Area as well as Chicago when we visit Natalie and Zach. After only a few days, Dave was craving more than ever some decent Chinese food. He hit a new low when we walked in one day to see he had ordered his hospital lunch and was trying to make his own version of fried rice as he had ordered steamed rice and an omelette. We said we’d try to steal him some packets of soy sauce from Panda Express the next day, but I ended up getting him some frozen PF Chang chow mein. Patients are allowed frozen packaged foods, but no restaurant, DoorDash, or anything of that sort. I wish I had videoed Dave taking his first bite of that little PF Chang‘s entree I brought him. You’d think he was dining at a Michelin star Chinese restaurant. He even used the word “delicious.” Poor Dave’s taste buds have been altered from chemo. He used to make fun of Panda Express and PF Chang‘s as not being real Chinese food. Oh, how the steam tables have turned.

So for a good 2 1/2 weeks Dave survived hospital food and PF Chang’s frozen entrées. He had been encouraged by his physical therapist to walk as much as he could around his floor which the PT calculated to be 615 steps. Am I even a runner if I didn’t figure out what that would equate to in miles? I calculated out that if Dave did 18 laps around his floor each day for the duration of his stay, he would have walked a marathon by discharge day. That became the goal: 18 laps a day, ideally 6 laps after each meal. Totally doable, right?

Those first few days were no problem. But around day four or five, the effects of the chemo kicked in big time not only with loss of energy but also chemo brain fog combined with lack of sleep as every few hours he would be awakened for nurses to take vitals. What was fairly easy a few days ago became extremely laborious – even half a lap knocked the wind out of Dave.

It was sad to see him so out of breath and feeling somewhat defeated. It was also sad the days he had fever and chills, which I didn’t know were normal reactions to the chemo reducing his white blood cells down to essentially zero. It’s the body fighting infection. The nurse had also explained from the daily blood draws the key numbers to watch out for would be a hemoglobin drop below 7 and a platelet count below 10. If those dropped, transfusions would be necessary. His platelet count did drop on several days which warranted three platelet transfusions, but he felt significantly better and noticeably more energetic after each one. Sixth grade bio is all making sense now. The function of hemoglobin and oxygen transport – that sixth grade film (yes, actual film) with Hemo the Magnificent flashed before me.

Days 16 and 17, Dave seemed almost back to his normal energy level. Originally his hospital stay was estimated to go through December 26. On day 17 his white blood cell count was back up to 0.5. The doctor had told him that number needed to stay 0.5 for two consecutive days or over 1.0 for one day. On day 18 his white blood cell count was 1.7! On the morning of December 22nd, doc said go home! Huge answer to prayer as all Dave wanted for Christmas was to go home to be with the kids…and Miles…and me.

Not anticipating an early discharge, we headed over to the hospital soon after we got the call from Dave. He was packed and ready to go home four days early. When I say I wasn’t anticipating his early discharge, it wasn’t just an empty fridge (I hadn’t cooked at home in three weeks), but it was also not being prepared mentally and emotionally. I didn’t realize until days after he got home, there was a sense of control and safety when he was behind those double doors of 3 East.

If I’m being totally honest, I almost lost my *bleep* on the way home after his discharge when he wanted to stop for fast food burgers. At that moment I was tempted to turn around, return him to the hospital, and hand him back to the nurses at 3 East. But instead I kept my mouth shut, and drove home where for the next few days all I could see were invisible germs, spores, and bacteria ready to attack Dave. It felt like an abrupt transition from the safe confines of the hospital to our home which – might I add – I take great pride in keeping very clean being the OCD, food safety obsessed, germaphobe that I am.

Humor has been a saving grace throughout this journey. Lots of weekly texts from family and friends, encouraging, praying, and making me laugh. A couple of friends asked if they’d be allowed to send flowers or food to the hospital which unfortunately was a solid no. One of our friends made a trip to Chicago Chinatown‘s famous oldest bakery last year gifting us with pastries and barbecued meats. When I explained why outside restaurant food was not allowed, her comment was “Roasted duckling hanging in the window all day has got to have its own kind of special bacteria. Lol.”

Back when we had scheduled his stem cell harvest and transplantation dates, I had to mentally and emotionally prepared myself to spend Christmas at the hospital. I had even put up our Christmas tree at home the week before Thanksgiving so that Dave could feel like he got a little bit of Christmas at home. As a rule, I don’t usually put up our tree until December. I was picturing we’d have our own quiet little Christmas in his hospital room, sing some Christmas carols, I’d bring a little artificial tree with lights, and we’d enjoy some over cooked turkey and potatoes from Cuisine de Simon Center.

This whole experience has made me feel like a bit of a doubting Thomas since it’s not like at any point I could see bone marrow cancer or see stem cells – healthy or unhealthy – increasing or decreasing. We had to put a lot of trust in doctors, nurses, coordinators, pharmacies, health insurance representatives, and the process. So when his white blood cell count tripled overnight, I wasn’t exactly sure how I should respond. It was an enormous answer to prayer. Intellectually, I knew without a doubt God could do anything – none of this was too hard, too complicated or too big of an ask for God, but my OCD human side couldn’t make that leap as quickly as Dave could pack up to go home.

I came to that realization this week and have tried to articulate MANY thoughts along the way, but it just didn’t come together despite several blogpost drafts starting as early as last July. Literally half a dozen posts are sitting in draft mode that I couldn’t finish. Part of me didn’t want to publicly post anything since we didn’t know the outcome. Another part of me didn’t want to have to answer all the “how are you doing” questions since it was easier to be a recluse. I hadn’t posted anything on Facebook (very unlike me) as I felt it wasn’t my story to share.

After Dave was discharged, I was a nervous wreck and kept crying for no apparent reason. I mean there was a reason – I just wasn’t sure what it was. We’ve had four follow-up lab visits since discharge. The second one his numbers dipped a little bit. The most recent one was back up even higher. I’m not sure if this is the new normal. We see the oncologist next week and have a whole bunch of questions. His numbers are definitely trending upwards, so we are very thankful. Dave will need to get all of his childhood vaccinations over again in the next months and year which he’s not looking forward to, but who would?

New Year’s came and went without a lot of glitter and glam. We probably watched 16 hours worth of football, but hey, maybe being well rested couch potatoes helped his numbers go up. After all he’s not just sitting around – he’s busy making more platelets and white blood cells.

I had a routine dentist check up a few days ago. I found out my hygienist is a cancer survivor who’d also successfully undergone stem cell transplant. The topic came up as I was trying to explain why I stopped wearing my night guard last summer. It was around the time Dave began chemo treatments. I’d been having trouble sleeping which was highly unusual since my whole life I’d slept like a rock. I noticed I’d wake up several times during the night as well as with headaches and jaw pain in the morning. Those last two went away after I stopped wearing the night guard, but I continued to wake up 3-4 times probably since Dave wasn’t sleeping great either. The challenge was falling back into a true restful sleep. In retrospect, I think those were appointed times for me to pray over Dave. And pray I did. Nothing profound. Kind of the same prayer over and over each night for physical strength, minimal side effects, mental clarity, provision and favor with medical care, as well as direction and timing of business decisions. Okay, I guess that’s a lot. Sometimes this simple chorus from a song (by Katy Nichole) was the prayer:

“I speak the name of Jesus over you…

I speak the name of all authority…”

Funny how God uses people and circumstances to bring clarity. One simple comment from the dental hygienist this week resonated: “I’d rather be the patient.” There it was. The statement that summed up how I’ve felt since last July. So many times I’ve thought that very same thing: I wish it were me instead of Dave. She shared how she always felt bad for friends and family taking care of her, watching her go through her sickness. She even had a friend say she would shave her head, too. Her reaction was “No! That would make me feel worse!”

There are so many moments, instances, provision, appointments, timing, friends, family, neighbors, cards, gift baskets, hugs…I am sure I am forgetting ALL the ways God has shown he’s been in every detail, every step of our journey since July. Answered prayer of prayers I didn’t even know I was praying. Things I didn’t think I needed until it was right in front of me. In retrospect, I think God knew how much I could handle at one time as well as my tendency to overthink everything. So He was like “Here you go, here’s what you need for this day, for this moment.” Reminds me of how God gave the Israelites exactly enough manna for each day with instructions to not worry about tomorrow’s manna. Use what I give you today for today’s purposes.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to go into anything like this blindly or unprepared. I’m just saying a big part of trusting God and not becoming overwhelmed was to take each day one day at a time. Pack for the journey like you’re running a race. Lightly. Just the essentials. Nothing to weigh you down or trip you up before you cross the finish line. Each day had its own hurdles and hills to climb. We did cross several finish lines on this journey. I don’t know how successful I was personally after each one – just like I’ve had good races, bad races, and everything in between. I’ve never not crossed a finish line. Not finishing this stopped/started blogpost began to feel like an unfinished race.

This journey is not over. Clearly in God’s Word, it’s evident He loves when His people remember and record His faithfulness ESPECIALLY during the most difficult of circumstances. I hope and pray this imperfect blogpost reflects that perfect truth.

Would I have done anything differently along the way? Yes and no. Hindsight is not 20/20…especially when it comes to cancer and marathons. Too many variables. Too much out of our control. That’s why God says to fix our eyes on Jesus, the Author and Perfector of our faith. The Ultimate Physician and Finisher.
Hebrews 12

I love a good rhyme. Even better – a good word play. I’ve never done the whole “word for the year” thing, but on January 9th, God made it pretty clear this was the year.

I had just returned from another extended stay back in NorCal filled with all my faves like Peet’s Coffee, Brazen Racing’s back-to-back New Year’s Eve/Day half marathons, long hikes at the Lafayette Reservoir, Meadowlark Dairy soft serve, day trips to Napa and CarMEL, and of course, seeing family and friends.

On the flight back, something felt different from all the other countless flights I’d made between Indy and California. I missed CARmel. Why was this so unusual? I mean when you think about it, how long does it take for you to develop a relationship with a person, place, or thing (now I’m singing the School House Rock noun song) before you can say you actually miss it when it’s gone? Those faves I just mentioned are all things I definitely miss since moving to Indiana. There’s an ache in my heart when I see posts of those people and places. It took years – decades even – to cultivate what I now recognize as my safe place aka comfort zone. The place where so many things were birthed, planted, took root…

Everything from where I met Dave summer of 1986, getting married two years later at the same church where we met, Natalie and Meagan being born at Walnut Creek Kaiser, starting my teaching career, running my first marathon, running 200 more races, helping my parents move from SoCal to NorCal, experiencing them decline with Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s, selling their home, downsizing our home, welcoming sons-in-law to our family, all the graduations, all the holidays, all the memories… to starting several businesses in Indiana including four restaurants, getting my furry best friend Miles, and buying what I’m now affectionately calling our forever home.

When I got home to Dave that January 9th, it was weird in a good way, a life-changing way. I had spent the entire four-hour flight back thinking, reflecting, debating, praying, worshipping, crying, resolving…

Resolving to be intentional about calling Indiana home in all the ways the word has taken root in my heart. A simple postal change of address, acknowledgment, or handshake wasn’t gonna cut it. It had to be a full-on wholehearted embrace with every fiber of my being. Because God Himself doesn’t do things halfway or even 99 percent. But more than that, He knows me better than I do and what it would take to move on to the next chapter with unbridled hope and joy. So, I couldn’t wait to share all this with Dave whom I know has been praying for years that I would make this move with him not just with moving boxes but with all my heart.

I don’t think I said it in those exact words, but I did give him the teacher version almost like the poetry unit I used to teach to my third graders. No, not the dreaded haiku. “Class, not all poetry has to rhyme.” I’ve been breaking that rule all of 2022 now that I think about it. Embrace this place. Embrace this race. Embrace His grace.

About a month later, Dave put that to the test. “Hey, let’s go look at this new model home across town!” Say what? I swore up and down after selling our big San Ramon home I’d never buy/move again. I’m getting too old for all this packing and unpacking. Plus, apartment living definitely had its perks. Mostly, I didn’t have to feel tied down to any place. Guess what? Not only did we go look (dangerous in and of itself to a recovering house-a-holic), but we fell in love with the floor plan, put our name in the “lottery,” got first pick of dirt lots, and went into contract on February 19th.

To say that a whole lot of pieces had to fall in place before closing day would be the understatement of 2022. You know that verse about faith to move mountains? We took it quite literally as we moved mountains of furniture and 30+ years’ worth of memorabilia, consolidated into a UBox and Dave’s car in Pleasanton then drove cross country over mountains to storage here in Indy until our house estimated completion in December/January.

‘Jesus replied, “Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.”’ Matthew 17:20-21

I was honestly dreading that 3,000-mile drive. I consider the four-hour flight to NorCal too long of a stretch to sit, so the thought of days sitting in a car was not appealing at all. Back to that embrace thing… moving is a whole different kind of marathon. I had to embrace this new race. Since Dave had inherited his dad’s love of adventure and national parks, he had mapped out what ended up being the most scenic, awe-inspiring, hike-filled, bison-stalking, photo worthy, enjoyable trip EVER.

God is sooooo good! I could go on and on about how He was in every detail big and small of the entire moving process.

But 3/4 in on our house build or the equivalent of mile 20 (as with most marathons I’ve run), I hit a wall. Or in this case, a basement. Did you know 70 percent of homes in Indiana have basements? Have I mentioned I’m from California? WE DON’T HAVE BASEMENTS IN CALIFORNIA. Basements are only supposed to be in movies where murders happen and dead bodies stored. Now we have a basement in a state where it rains at will all summer – and by rain I mean torrential downpour. We had several of these this summer after our house had been roofed and drywalled which, silly me, I assumed meant watertight. I’d never heard of a sump pump until this year. Those words would be great in a third grade haiku come to think of it – sump pump. Or Dr. Seuss book. Well, turns out it’s a very essential piece of basement equipment that prevents flooding. At least when the power is working. During a couple of these summer storms, our power tripped and, guess what, the sump pump stopped working. In retrospect, did I make a mountain out of a molehill? Maybe. But the sight of our flooded basement literally almost had me marching into the sales office and telling them what they could do with our house and deposit. I love rain, but if I have to worry about our basement flooding EVERY TIME it rains for the next thirty years, I’m out!

This analogy of moving being a marathon – well, I was about to DNF. Something snapped even after everything had gone so miraculously smoothly up to this point. I had a royal meltdown. Sorry Hoosiers, but I was cursing you up and down for your love of basements. As with running and racing, it helps tremendously when you don’t try to go it alone. Dave reminded me of this “race” we were in and to resist those schemes of the enemy to discourage, derail, and deter us from God’s plans. Dave also said he’d get us a back up generator, dehumidifier, and ozone machine then encouraged me to think about how maybe this basement could be used by God in the future. All part of embracing this place. Embrace the base(ment). Lol.

To be able to say “GOD IS SO GOOD” while staring at a flooded basement, or really, any unwanted circumstance doesn’t make me more spiritual or worthy. What it does do is flip the switch on God’s own floodgate of peace and joy which goes a long way in the quest to reach the finish line.

You know what else goes a long way? Trusting in His timing. Embrace His pace.

I got an email in early August which I legit thought was spam mail and almost deleted it since it was so farfetched. “Congratulations! Your closing date has been set for September 27th.” Three months early? That NEVER happens! Especially with all the supply chain delays as residual effects of the pandemic shutdown. Again, lots of pieces had to fall into place with this pivot in timing. “PIVOT!” said in Ross voice. Several more hurdles the following three months – now chasing move deadlines. Embrace the chase.

Thankfully we locked in a decent loan rate as interest rates significantly rose by year end. Had we closed when we originally planned, we may not have been able to afford the much higher monthly payment. Embrace the rate. (I know, doesn’t rhyme…sorry.)

God’s fingerprints have been all over this journey. He took great care in countless details that only He could have orchestrated. Moving day was a beautiful, sunny day. I couldn’t have asked for a more efficient, courteous moving crew. I tipped each of the crew members the dollar amount of the chapter to one of my favorite verses and shared the meaning behind it with them as well. One dude said “Wow, I’ve never been tipped with a Bible verse before!”

I met our new neighbors a few weeks later. Kate loves orange like I love lime green. Reminds me of my former classroom neighbor, Nicole, who loves orange. *Maybe painting your entire room bright orange was a bit much though – ha, ha. We text each other ending with lime green and orange heart emojis now. Our signature signoff as my teacher bestie and I used to do. Funny, Kate is also a teacher.

Speaking of lime green heart, mine was exploding over Thanksgiving as Natalie, Zach, Herbie (my new grand pup), and Meagan paid a surprise visit! Missing Nathan for sure, but having the kids home for Thanksgiving – that’s when our house truly felt like home.

Closing out 2022, it occurred to me the finish line is now in sight. Since we didn’t have enough excitement in our lives, we closed one restaurant and opened a completely new one on December 9th. Dean Thompson, friend and Run for God coach extraordinaire, has said to make sure you leave enough in the tank for one last push as you approach the finish line. As many spectators have cheered me on during that last mile to “FINISH STRONG,” I have also cheered for others to do the same on and off the race course which is now on my heart to say to you as we cross the finish line of 2022 together, friends!

Only someone as long-winded as me could turn a three-word lesson into an 1,800-word blogpost. Let me just leave you and 2022 with this to take into the new year: EMBRACE GOD’S GRACE!

‘Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me.’ 2 Corinthians 12:9

“Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you your heart’s desires. Commit everything you do to the Lord. Trust Him, and He will help you.” Psalm 37:4-5

No, I’m not changing my blogsite name or creating a new Bible translation of Hebrews 12:1. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the verse that has literally changed – and dare I say – saved my life this last decade. But does God really mean “RUN the race He has set before us?” I’m no theologian or Bible scholar. I am simply one who’s taken God at His Word with literal childlike faith for most of my adult life. So when He says “run,” I run.

Reminds me of when Natalie was three and we were in our living room dancing to the radio. Some fast songs that to a toddler meant jumping, twisting, and running in circles until you were about to puke. Thankfully, a slow song finally came on at which point I said “Oh good, a slow dance!” and reached out to hold her so we could sway together to the music. Instead, Natalie rejected my embrace and began doing all her previous moves but in s-s-l-l-l-o-o-o-w-w mo. Literally slow dancing. And then there was the time we were running super late and five year old Natalie insisted on tying her shoes “all by myself” since she had just learned a few days ago. Impatiently, I muttered under my breath “Could you go any slower?” Apparently, Natalie heard me and proceeded to tie her shoes even more slowly whilst saying “Okay, but I thought we were in a hurry.”

Maybe because it’s been hotter than the surface of the sun this last month and more humid than a steam room, I took to indoor cycling. There was a time not too long ago that I would’ve looked those temps and dew point in the eye and said “Ha! Bring on the heat training!” I did used to intentionally run in 95 degree heat and sit in the steam room at the gym with the steam on high for 30 minutes when I was training for summer endurance races. Still not enough preparation for my first 8 hour Midwest race in the middle of July. Kicked my butt for sure. Soon after, a friend posted a verse about humility which I thought said humidity. Actually made more sense that way. Lol.

I’m one week out from that same annual 8 hour race sitting here in my air-conditioned kitchen writing at this moment. I had ramped up my indoor cycle classes but realized the gym bikes are also in an air-conditioned setting. So I took to biking outdoors which was more comfortable than running since you get a bit of a breeze on a bike even in the hottest temps. Longest ride has been 31 miles. I’ve ridden twice that distance in cold blustery storms back in NorCal, but I’ll take that over humidity any day. I miss those days.

Even more, I miss running with Jesus. Hold on…

Are you saying you can only have that special time with Jesus if you’re running? NO! Maybe. Depends.

A running inspo (podcaster, blogger, Boston BQer) of mine wrote a while back “I get my best ideas when I’m running. I never want to lose that special time.” Made me think about the countless times during my runs that Jesus has inspired a new blogpost, talked me outta self-inflicted criticism, talked me into doing better for myself and others, and kept me going one step at a time during the most painful moments of a race as well as life.

Perhaps God is teaching me to find Him in a new form of discipline. To see Him in unexpected places. To dig deeper in areas of weakness. To get outta comfort zones. To refocus on my source of strength. To get back to the foundation of what it means to train with Jesus… CROSS training.

I remember so vividly, like it was yesterday, when I first heard Hebrews 12:1 back in 2008 – the year I lost 35lbs and ran my first race. It was a normal Sunday morning church service. Okay, maybe not normal as right before the message a dude dressed like Lance Armstrong ran down the middle aisle holding his bike up over his shoulders like it weighed nothing. That was the whole point. The entire sermon. I just didn’t know it at the time.

“…let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us.” NLT

That bike was around 15lbs – the minimum required safety weight of Tour de France bikes. Only 4lbs or so of the bike is the paper-thin carbon frame. For comparison, a typical road bike is around 26lbs and hybrid around 30lbs. In a race such as Tour de France (or really any race), stripping down as much weight as possible is a major factor for speed and enduring longer distances. It’s fascinating to watch the 21 different Tour de France stages over 24 days covering about 2,200 miles of varying terrain. Dave thinks I’m nuts for being glued to the TV as the coverage admittedly does look the same for hours each day. The fascinating part is how they literally bike all those miles with only the shirts on their backs. Shorts, too, but you get what I mean. When it comes to hydration and food, they don’t stop. They don’t really slow down either. Team cars ride alongside each cyclist matching their speeds and hand them necessary items. If there’s an injury (non-life threatening), the team doctor proceeds the same way treating them from a moving car. It’s also ludicrous how close together cyclists ride (the peloton) at top speeds and how close crazy spectators are allowed to spectate as they whizz past each major point of interest. Then there’s those downhills. Fastest recorded speed is 63.1mph. Unofficial is 85mph. Flat road speed is typically 25-28mph.

If I’m ever going over 25mph, you’d better get outta my way because it means my brakes aren’t working on a downhill and I’m preparing to meet my Maker.

Of course, that Sunday’s sermon was not about how to win the Tour de France. It was about how to win in daily life. The guest speaker was a pro cyclist; but first and foremost, he was a man of faith who could speak from experience the benefits of losing weight to go faster on his bike AND to draw closer to Jesus. Losing all the unnecessary weighty items on a bike (but I kinda like having a kickstand) for maximum efficiency. Losing all the “baggage” of the world so nothing gets between me and Jesus. That baggage is everything from holding grudges, compromising values, acting entitled, harboring unforgiveness, withholding grace and mercy, standing in a place of judgement and everything in between.

God offers the solution. The way to be a lean, mean running machine. Give it all to Him. Lay it down at the feet of Jesus. Acknowledge you can’t run the race holding on to all this extra weight. Stop carrying around the heavy, heavy burden of unconfessed sin.

When I was 8, I took a dollar bill from my mom’s wallet while she was napping. I was so nervous my hands were shaking. For the rest of the day and what felt like an eternity after (probably a few days), every time I heard a siren I thought it was the police coming to arrest me for stealing that dollar bill. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t look my mom in the eyes or have our normal fun conversations. I decided to put that dollar bill back in her wallet. You know what? I never did tell her what I had done or how it made me feel. I’m sure she sensed something was up. I had put an awkward distance between us. Thinking back to the kind of mom she was, I have no doubt she would’ve not only appreciated my honesty but been very sad at how unnecessarily ashamed it made me feel. She might’ve actually cried then laughed about the police thing, told me she forgives me, given me a huge hug while saying I’ll always love you. Here I am 47 years later – I wish I’d told her.

Part of me is afraid if I stop running I’ll lose those special moments of inspiration, conviction, and connection with Jesus. Sounds silly now that I actually said it. So did God reeeeeally mean to literally RUN the race? Yes! But don’t limit yourself to running…

1 Corinthians 9:24-26 “Don’t you realize that in a race everyone runs, but only one person gets the prize? So run to win! All athletes are disciplined in their training. They do it to win a prize that will fade away, but we do it for an eternal prize. So I run with purpose in every step.” NLT

“So I bike with purpose in every pedal stroke.”

“And let us bike with endurance the race God has set before us.” NIV (New Irene Version) Lol.

I’m never buying a new home again. I’m never moving again. I’m never running in snow or sub freezing temps again. I’m never drinking beet juice before a race again.

Never say never.

I did all of the above recently. And by recently, I mean all in the last sixty days.

I keep saying “I’m too old for this now.” There was a period in my life not that long ago (is five years considered a long time ago?) when I wouldn’t think twice about moving or racing. Or downing pints of beet juice. It was just part of life. I mean who doesn’t move five times in four years? Or run eight marathons a year and three half marathons a month?

Last weekend did me in. I was NOT signed up for the Carmel Marathon as was my annual tradition since my first visit to the Midwest in 2014. Up until then, the only Carmel I knew was the west coast one pronounced carMEL. It’s taken me almost as long to switch over the pronunciation to Indiana’s CARmel. After that first one in 2014, I really thought Carmel Marathon was one of those races I’d run every year until I died. Just like I thought I’d be one of those teachers at my former elementary school that taught so long that former students would come back and visit with their own children.

My prideful OCD self’s mantra says “all or nothing.” Marathon distance or nothing. It’s more of a hang up than pride if I really think about it. I’ve always let myself get caught up in the extremes – like there’s no in between options. In running and in life.

So when Dave shockingly said one week before the race “What?! You’re not signed up?” he struck a chord. Triggered me. I can’t break my Carmel Marathon streak. Since I was no where near race ready to run 26.2 miles, I signed up for the half marathon. I had just run the Sam Costa half two weeks before that in unexpected snowy, windy conditions which most people, myself included, thought was the LAST remnants of winter. We were wrong.

Surprisingly, I felt pretty good the entire race despite the barrage of snow walking to the start line, pelting of ice at mile six, headwinds on the uphills, and being passed by the actual winner of the full marathon at mile 13 as well as this slice of pizza:

Quick shower then wolfed down the pancake and sausage from the race finish village (thank you race organizers – so much better than a banana), then we were off and running to unload our UBOX which had made the journey from California after being meticulously loaded three weeks prior. *see previous blogpost.

No problem, I thought. It’s gonna be so much easier and faster unloading than it was loading…which it was except for the fact that we weren’t allowed to have the UBOX dropped off at the public storage building entrance which would’ve been steps from our storage unit as well as out of the freezing wind that afternoon. No, it was dropped off around the back of the building at the end of a very long driveway so as to not block any traffic or outside storage unit access. Did I mention I’d just run a half marathon in sub freezing temps a few hours ago?

Side note: I’ve got to work more on upper body strength as I was almost flattened by my own king mattress and used my head sandwiched between it and our storage unit wall for support.

But we made it happen. Thirty years worth of our most prized memorabilia, artwork, and furniture now safely tucked into a storage unit awaiting its final destination at our new forever home. Yes, the one I said I would never buy again that we are now in contract on awaiting its completion in December which warranted us putting our Carmel home on the market and moving into an apartment last month. Move #5 (two houses and three apartments) since 2018 selling and downsizing the home we’d raised Natalie and Meagan in which made us official empty nesters.

It’s impossible to plan for everything empty nesting entails. I’ve swung the pendulum on the emotional side of it as well as the literal nest part. Surprisingly, I’m enjoying apartment living and love our downtown one bedroom apartment as it is perhaps our last opportunity to live the middle aged hipster lifestyle. Lol.

Don’t get me wrong – there was nothing wrong with the empty nester home we bought in 2018 after selling the NorCal home. So in February when Dave shockingly suggested we look at this new home community, even more shockingly, I agreed. Shocking because I had said in no uncertain terms after the last move “I’M NEVER MOVING AGAIN!” But I was triggered. In a good way really. Maybe because Meagan was married now. Maybe because I was finally able to let go of soooooo much guilt and pain of the last few years from dad’s Parkinson’s and mom’s Alzheimer’s. Maybe because God was showing me how to find peace and joy again by learning to embrace the place He’s prepared for me.

I haven’t been the same since my parents died. Dad in 2019, Mom in 2021. For sure, they’re enjoying pain free eternal glory together with Jesus now. But death changes you. I didn’t realize until we looked at the model home in the community we are now in contract on that I’d been living like I could meet my Maker next week – and not in the way you’re supposed to – as in making the most of each day and opportunity. To put it simply, my attitude about a lot of things had become “What’s the point?” I mean if I’m just gonna end up in a nursing home or memory care facility…yeah, not the best outlook to carry around. Mortality stared me in the face especially when I thought about the dreaded packing and purging of stuff we’d accumulated during 34 years of marriage. I was all over the place emotionally…again. One minute I was like “Why have I been saving all this stuff? Dave, just get one of your guys out there to toss everything!” The next minute I’m crying as I’m clinging to the blurry, faded photo of my dad at the Los Angeles Zoo with three year old Natalie and one year Meagan. So much stuff. I had saved one golf club after clearing out Mom and Dad’s house – a behemoth task unto itself. It was his favorite club. I almost had Mom’s and my violins tossed when the junk haulers came, but my sister had the presence of mind – and heart – to save them. I also have large boxes filled with art projects and writing samples from Nat and Meg’s preschool to high school years. Endless collections of photos and film, yes, from the pre-digital camera era. WHAT EXACTLY AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH ALL THIS STUFF?

The more I run, the more I’m noticing I notice stuff around me. Nature stuff. God’s stuff. The bluest sky as the backdrop. The slightest signs of changing seasons. Birds singing their different tunes. It’s mid April. Spring has sprung. Time for God to show off once again as He faithfully does each year. The slumber and barrenness of winter soon to be a distant memory. How is it that only a few months before winter the trees were literally glowing spectacular hues then shed on the ground below? Where did all that stuff go? I mean I know it’s all biodegradable, but it just now occurred to me that God, the Creator, is the ultimate “stuff master.” He made sure everything He put in this storage unit called Earth had a place and a way to cycle out its seasonal attire.

As promising warmer, drier weather is in the forecast, our new house foundation is scheduled for digging this week. I love that the timing coincides with Easter. The hope and promise of new life, new beginning, new chapter, new foundation…

Ironically, of the four homes we built from ground up and the other five that already had foundations laid, this one will have the biggest “footprint” aka foundation and most square footage if you include the basement. This California girl’s first basement – which I intend to paint super bright colors and add more lighting than an airport runway so as to mitigate any creepy murder basement vibes.

I guess we failed when it came to downsizing. Oops. I’ve been excitedly calling this our forever home. “Forever” because it will be the last time I have to pack and unpack. We will even have a basement big enough to store all of Indiana’s preschool macaroni art and comparative essays. Woo-hooooo! I have to smile when I think about how much bigger, grander, and incomparable the workmanship will be in the house our Heavenly Father has built for us – the real deal forever home. He’s already taken the stress and guesswork out of agonizing decisions like paint color. Sherman Williams “7015 Repose Gray” or “7016 Mindful Gray”…Seriously, calm down, Irene. It’s just paint. Lord willing, Dave and I will be in this house 30-40 years and need to repaint at some point after little monkeys visit. But maybe that’s what you’re supposed to do with basements – send the grandkids down there. Or set up a winter obstacle course for your doggo. Or build a mini version of Cal’s Memorial Stadium complete with astroturf and yard lines. The possibilities are endless. Stay tuned, friends…

“Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in Me (Jesus). There is more than enough room in my Father’s home. If this were not so, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am.” John 14:2-3 NLT (emphasis mine)

“When He assigned to the sea its limit,
So that the waters would not transgress His command,
When He marked out the foundations of the earth…” Proverbs 8:29 NKJV

“God, my God, how great you are!
beautifully, gloriously robed,
Dressed up in sunshine,
and all heaven stretched out for your tent.
You built your palace on the ocean deeps,
made a chariot out of clouds and took off on wind-wings.
You commandeered winds as messengers,
appointed fire and flame as ambassadors.
You set earth on a firm foundation
so that nothing can shake it, ever.” Psalm 104 MSG

Photo Credit: CarmelRoadRacingGroup.smugmug.com

Home field advantage can be a game changer when it comes to sports. Crowd noise during 3rd down and inches or 4th and goal especially. It’s also been the reason Dave and I have walked into work Monday mornings with no voices left.

One of my favorite marathons was 2017 Chicago Marathon for its impressive crowd support along literally every single street. Usually along a 26.2 mile course, there might be a few pockets of small crowds cheering on runners and even an occasional band or DJ. So to have streets filled with cheer squads the entire race on an unseasonably warm fall morning was a much needed surprise.

Speaking of much needed surprises, I got one last Saturday that ended up being a game changer…

We had just flown back from a whirlwind quick trip to our old stomping grounds in NorCal two days before. Having arrived Monday at 1am which was really 4am EST, we hit the ground running the next day to do what I had been dreading and putting off the last few years. Purging and packing what was left of our California lives. Dave and I spent two whole days on our feet Tetris-ing (that word is now a regular part of my vocab) 30+ years of photos and assorted miscellaneous into a 5’x7′ UBOX and his car which we will be driving cross country back to Indiana next month. I’m most definitely guilty of being a momma hoarder as I had several large boxes of items I had saved and sealed dating back to both kids’ preschool days. I mean, c’mon, how can you throw away a Mother’s Day portrait with macaroni hair or Baby Jesus in a walnut shell Christmas ornament? If I hadn’t been there to supervise, Dave would’ve.

Must be a man-thing, but he might as well have ripped my heart outta my chest when he opened up the popcorn tin I’d saved storing all of Natalie and Meagan’s baby shoes. The man was in rare Tetris Master form as he proceeded to put one shoe in each of the other boxes we had sorted through so we could save the space that my precious tin was going to occupy. To be fair, I had actually cancelled our UBOX the week before since the budget was not allowing and I had optimistically thought I’d be able to toss more boxes than I was actually willing. But after the first day and seeing his wife’s hoarding kick into high gear, Dave checked UBOX online and found the price was now HALF what it was from when I’d reserved one a month ago. Book it, Dan-O! *Cue Hawaii Five-0 music.

The Tetris madness went on from dawn til dusk for two days, but miraculously, everything either fit in the UBOX, Dave’s car, two dumpsters, or our good friend’s truck and trailer. The next day as our flight took us over the San Francisco Bay on a clear, beautiful 80 degree morning, I took a deep breath, looked at Dave and said “We did it.” Then spent the rest of the flight crying, praying, and praising God for how He was in every detail of this last page of our California chapter of life.

The next day (Thursday) I woke up feeling more tired and sore than after any of the 55 marathons I’ve run over these last twelve years. The Sam Costa Half Marathon in Carmel was Saturday. I had signed up months ago not anticipating our last minute travel and packing plans. I’ve never been so unprepared and untrained for a race. In my mind, I’d decided to just pick up my race bib and shirt then run it virtually when I was feeling like a functional human again as opposed to a dazed, sore, jetlagged blob. Then I got this text from a good friend:

Oh man…how can I disappoint a five year old? Or would she be more disappointed watching all the speedy runners fly past her house while waiting for me to finally show up? You know how time goes with little kids…twenty minutes feels like a day. With the Saturday weather forecasted with unseasonable below freezing temps and SNOW (I’ll never get used to this Indiana weather – lol), I texted my friend back that I would be slow as molasses and worried about them standing out there in the cold. She had the nerve to reply that they would gladly wait for me and even be ready with a warm cup of water and poster!

One word: HUMBLED. I can’t even anymore. Just when I feel like giving up, God steps in using people and circumstances to remind me what He’s all about. Grace, compassion, mercy, healing, restoration, salvation. And here I was only thinking about running.

I woke up Saturday morning to see a blanket of white outside. I instantly felt bad that my friends would be standing out in the snow waiting for me, but apparently they are more hardcore than me as I dunno that I would stand outside in 15 degree real feel waiting around for a bunch of crazy runners.

With the high winds, the race organizers wisely opted to not put up their traditional start line arch, so as I walked out towards the starting area, it was not super clear where I should position myself. I normally start somewhere in the middle of the pack. In my peak running years, I would position myself closer to the front. I went to what I thought was the back of the pack which quickly became apparent it was the front as the race director counted down to “GO!” and everyone sped past me in a massive blur with a couple of runners mumbling expletives since I was THAT annoying runner slowing down their 6 min mile goal pace.

Knowing my friends were waiting in the cold, I did make every effort to pick up my own pace. When I turned up their street, I got excited to see them – especially little Ava – expecting a barrage of pink and purple as she is normally clothed in her favorite colors. She did not disappoint as I could see her from a mile away. Okay, half a mile, but still.

As promised, she had a big cup of water ready for me and even ran like a pro beside me so I wouldn’t have to stop or lose stride. Again, I can’t even! I was so touched…I had to stop. I gave her a hug, took a big sip of water, waved at my friends holding the only personalized race sign that’s ever been made for me, then took off to run what would end up being my fasted mile split that day.

Talk about home field advantage! My friends’ home was definitely my advantage. I ran the next few miles with a heart so full that I couldn’t help but praise and pray for this precious family – the friends God used to literally get me outta bed that morning.

The cold and wind picked up later in the race, but it didn’t matter. I kept running, praising, and praying. You know once you start praying for one person, the Holy Spirit prompts you to pray for others…and so on. It’s kinda like that children’s book If You Give a Mouse a Cookie with Nat and Meg’s reading projects based on the book that I’d packed 20 years ago now on it’s way in a UBOX to Indy.

I’m continually amazed at how God demonstrates He is in the details of my life…of my race…of my move. I see Proverbs 3:5-6 in a whole new light now. Trusting every next step to Him – whether it be in a race or a move cross country – committing each detail to His hands, I can rest assured He will keep me on track.

“Trust God from the bottom of your heart;
don’t try to figure out everything on your own.
Listen for God’s voice in everything you do, everywhere you go;
he’s the one who will keep you on track.” MSG translation

The NKJV translation says “In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” It took a cross country move for me to see how acknowledging Him in all my ways means to submit every step, every mile, every detail to God and watch Him do what He does best. It means laying down my anxieties at Jesus’ feet and not picking them back up. It means trusting in His timing, provision, protection, and favor when solutions aren’t obvious and I wanna make everything fit my own way.

Good to know He is the ultimate Tetris master.

Can we engage in some potty talk for a sec? I don’t mean the actual business that goes on in a potty, but the facilities themselves. And believe me, as someone who’s run over 200 races – which means using a *porta potty at least that many times – I’ve seen some downright nasty, deplorable ones to put it nicely. *Porta john for my southern friends. A good friend of mine, whose lifelong dream was to run the NYC Marathon, when asked about the race went so far as to say her experience was tainted by a ghastly pre-race porta potty. As a professing germaphobe and one who will drive all the way home to use her own bathroom, using porta potties has not only been a test in how long one can hold her breath but also of timing and line management.

Let me also preface this whole discussion by saying that as I’ve gotten older, when nature calls I must answer and not let it roll over to voicemail.

Back when I was in peak training and still chasing a BQ, my greatest race nightmare was having to stop – for any reason – but especially for unexpected potty needs. God forbid I miss a PR because I had to stop and pee, but sadly, it’s happened. One time it was at mile 6 of Revel Canyon City Marathon. Couldn’t even wait to potentially stand in line at the next aid station which I didn’t bother to memorize where it was on course. Nope. I looked around desperately starting around mile 5 and finally spied an informal turnout with some dense forestry. I was cooking with speed at that point, marveling at the stunning mountain top vistas, anticipating an epic race, but alas, the bladder does what the bladder wants. We left our mark behind some secluded bushes – even avoided poison oak in places the sun don’t shine – and continued on to ultimately cross the finish line after a few more potty stops (not in bushes) two minutes slower than my goal time.

These days my run has to start at a location with a public restroom conveniently located steps from my car. Coffee is a runner’s two-edged sword. Non-negotiable for mental acuity, mood, speed, sanity, etc. But the benefits come at a price, thus the need for restroom accessibility on any run.

Yesterday morning I pulled into the parking lot at one of my favorite run routes. Even parked in my favorite parking spot. Can you say “creature of habit?” This particular parking lot is a fave since it has some of the cleanest restrooms not to mention they’re heated in the winter – such a strange concept having lived in California most of my life. As I started to head over to my favorite restrooms, I saw that one of the two doors had a TEMPORARILY CLOSED sign. No prob. I checked the other door which indicated it was occupied. Fortunately, this was not a DEFCON1 bladder situation, so I just did some stretches while waiting. The Carmel Parks and Recreation maintenance vehicle was parked nearby, so the staff member who saw me waiting made it a point to come out and apologize for the temporary closure as he was in the process of cleaning it as someone had had a bad accident. Now that bit of info prrrrrrobably wasn’t necessary; however, the gentleman seemed sincerely sad for the trail patron who likely had a bad burrito the night before. He continued to apologize for me having to wait as well as tell me how he wanted to make sure it was spick and span for me. I thanked him, told him how much I appreciated his efforts, and went back to my car to wait.

I checked my email, responded to some texts, then saw the Parks and Rec gentleman waving at me motioning that the restroom was now ready. I got out of my car, thanked him again, and entered the restroom. Let me tell you, that was the cleanest, freshest smelling public restroom I’d ever experienced. After doing my biz, I made it a point to tell the man the restroom was cleaner than mine at home. He looked genuinely pleased and reiterated how important it was to him that the restrooms were at their very best for folks. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen anyone take so much pride in their work. It was actually quite touching. I told him that I hope he knows his efforts make a big difference and that he made my day. This man was literally beaming. As we said our goodbyes and I headed out onto the trail for my run, I was beaming as well. I thanked God for the opportunity to have this encounter and for blessing upon this man’s day.

During dinner, I couldn’t help but share all this with Dave. I literally had tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat as it struck me how if you didn’t know this man’s profession you’d think he was Michelangelo pouring his heart and soul into his world renown Sistene Chapel ceiling frescoes. Or that he’d just finished cleaning the restrooms in the Sistene Chapel.

Dave reminded me of this verse:

“Work willingly at whatever you do, as though you were working for the Lord rather than for people.” Colossians 3:23

Funny, I just now remembered that was my life verse when I started my Masters in Education program years back. I wanted my classroom, lesson planning, teaching, and everything related to be for God’s glory. In fact, that was my whole reason for even getting a masters degree: to take my lifelong dream of being a teacher to the next level – to be the best I could be at the job God gave me. The same verse in The Message version sums it up better:

“And don’t just do the minimum that will get you by. Do your best. Work from the heart for your real Master, for God, confident that you’ll get paid in full when you come into your inheritance. Keep in mind always that the ultimate Master you’re serving is Christ.”

There have been puhhhlenty of days I felt like doing the minimum. There were days I showed up at school with a fever and hacking cough (pre-Covid times) and muddled my way through the day not because I thought I was indispensable or trying to be a hero. Have you ever had to write sub plans for a kindergarten or third grade class while you’re sick? And this is no reflection on the subs as they were terrific. It was just so much easier to go in and get through the day fueled by coffee and Tylenol. It’s probably really good I never had any surprise principal observations those days.

On the flip side, there were waaaaay more days I was the last teacher left in the building on a Friday night. Brevity is not my strong suit as you can tell if you’ve been a faithful follower of my blog. I made it a habit every Friday night, after inputting grades, to write a weekly parent newsletter. It began as a weekly recap of classroom activities and lessons, but quickly grew into an opportunity to share how God was working, answering prayers, and showing up sometimes in the most unexpected, unplanned ways. I cherished those Friday nights – somehow the excitement, busyness, stress, routines, successes, and fails of the week melted away into the keyboard. I reflected on how giving Jesus my best doesn’t mean everything ends up spick and span. Or that I PR my marathon. It was during those times alone in my classroom sitting at my desk so captivated by God’s goodness that the motion sensor would turn off the lights from my being so still. And then I’d have to stand up and flail my arms, jumping up and down to get the lights to come back on. Occasionally the night custodian would pop his head in and say “Everything okay in here, Mrs. Tang?”

Everything was just fine as I hit send on my newsletter, wrote out Monday’s lesson plans on the white board, cued up next week’s Song of the Week, straightened up rows of desks, and locked the door behind me. Another week behind and another one ahead for opportunities to give God my best.

Colossians 3:23 applies whether you’re painting the Sistene Chapel, teaching third graders, running a marathon, or cleaning a restroom. I’m thankful God knew best how to teach this lesson to me yesterday with clean, fresh perspective.

Contrary to popular belief, I don’t always wear lime green when I run. Although I have worn my favorite lime green shirt a lot recently – the one with my life verse: “…and let us run with endurance the race set before us.” Hebrews 12:1

I had to pull that one out as a personal reminder for why I’m still running. Motivation has been a struggle after getting back to Indy after an extended NorCal stay. Post wedding blues is a thing, right? All perfectly normal but harder than anticipated to get back into some semblance of purposeful training and well…just going about my day.

Nothing like your daughter’s wedding and a slightly tight mother-of-the-bride dress to keep you accountable for a solid five months. But you know what? It was the kind of accountability and training I enjoy. Love. Crave. Need. So when I got back to the nest, it once again had that empty feeling like when both girls left for college only this time I was retired from teaching which had been my calling and identity after motherhood. I did adopt one other identity during those magical years in between when Nat and Meg were teens and I was Mrs. Tang, the teacher. That identity was marathoner.

Fast forward to the last couple of weeks…

I had it in my mind to run my tenth back-to-back New Year’s Eve/Day half marathons as was my tradition for putting an exclamation mark on a year of races as well as turning the page to a new year. This year was special as the races would truly be back-to-back. The last time the race days straddled a Saturday was ten years ago and were actually my very first trail races ever. A hundred+ trail halfs later, I’m sitting here anxious, wishy-washy, unmotivated, and downright depressed about running. I didn’t even register early to get the early bird pricing like I’ve obsessively done the last ten years. I didn’t register at all until two days before the races. Pretty sure I was waiting until the last minute for some excuse to not run. Rain, mud, cold, injury…hold on, is my knee flaring up from when Miles ran into it a month ago? Wait, I just coughed…maybe I’m coming down with something. I’m literally rolling my eyes at myself now. C’mon, you’re fine.

I wore that lime green shirt on my last 10 mile training run before the New Year’s Eve race. My way of assigning a purpose for the run which also took on the form of a cry to the Lord: “Please don’t let me give up!” And I didn’t just mean in running. Daily life. Ongoing prayers for friends and family. Relationships. Business. Career. Identity.

Funny thing happened at what I thought was the end of mile 8. That internal dialogue of rationalizing 9 was enough kicked in since wind chill and quad tightness did as well. I literally asked God “Does it really matter to you if I finish 9 vs 10 miles?” I intentionally had not looked at my Garmin the entire run since I was very familiar with the hilly one mile loops. I glanced at my watch to confirm I was about to shortchange my goal and was surprised to see 9.80 miles instead of the 8.80 I thought I had completed. This may not seem like a big deal – I mean it’s really not in terms of physical training – but it meant the world to me at that point, on that day. It was the tailwind of encouragement I needed to finish the ten miles I’d set out to run. Can we take a moment here an acknowledge that under counting miles rarely happens? There’s been plenty of times I thought I’d run MORE than I had…UGHHHH, the mental struggle when you realize you’re not at the mile marker you thought…or hoped.

I drove home feeling a boost of adrenaline and like I could conquer the world. Okay, that’s a mild exaggeration, but mostly I was feeling humbled that the God of the universe knew my exact mileage, my self-defeating thoughts, my remaining distance to the finish line, and how to tie it all together in a way that would draw me back to His purpose for me being out there in the first place: put Him in first place.

Most folks think retirement will be one glorious moment after another. For sure, it can be – maybe. As one who’s semi-retired, craves structure, and obsessively colors inside the lines, some days are just depressing. I know I’m guilty of grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side mentality, but I do miss the days when I had to get my class out to recess at 9:35, run copies of math tests, forage in the science closet for last minute lab supplies, submit attendance/absences, check parent emails, and most importantly, pee before picking up my class at 9:50. The well-trained bladder of a teacher takes years to master. To this day, I still have to pee around 9:45 no matter where I am or what I’m doing.

Does God know I miss the classroom? Does He see that it was the last time I felt daily calling and purpose? Absolutely. And how do I know this? A race bib. My New Year’s Day half marathon race number was 555. Let me first preface this next part by saying I did not do any sort of extensive research nor do I wish to make something outta nothing. I do, however, enjoy when a bib number is a cool verse like getting bib 1010 or when my hotel room number at Napa Marathon was 1010. “I have come that they may have life to the full.” John 10:10

So as I was drinking my pre-race coffee, a quick google search pointed out that Jesus’ name is five letters as well as key words such as grace and mercy. Hmmm. Nothing mind blowing, yet interesting. I finished my coffee and headed out in the dark as I had decided to do the earlier hiker start which would allow me to finish my race an hour sooner since I wanted to stop by my sister’s house for a New Year’s Day visit before heading back to Indy. The previous morning’s regular race start was filled with way more runners, familiar faces, hugs, less frost on the ground, and much anticipation for the new year. The vibe on January 1st was much calmer and colder as expected of the earlier start time. Only a few familiar faces at the start line. The starting horn blasted and we were off running the same course as the previous day but reverse direction.

The lake was just starting to glisten as the early morning fog was lifting. I’ve run this race course dozens of times and each time discover new favorite vistas. One advantage of an earlier start time is the glorious sunrise and this one did not disappoint. When the sun fully rose over the hills, it was almost blinding. It reminded me of the apostle Paul whose life changing, mind blowing conversion came on the road to Damascus through a literal blinding light. Somedays I feel like I need God to be THAT literal with me. To shine His light during the darkest of times. To reveal His will when I feel in the dark. To answer the cries of my heart when all I see is darkness. Light is a five letter word. As I ran, I now focused on that word and how Jesus is the Light of the world. World is a five letter word. The Holy Spirit reminded me that God so loved each one of us in this world that He gave His one and only Son. I started praying for friends and family to know deeply how much they are loved by their Creator. Loved is a five letter word. Every time I see a red ribbon course marker, I’m reminded that it is by His stripes we are healed and forgiven. Stripe and blood are five letter words. Around every corner, with each mile, five letter words came to mind. Faith. Trust. Power. Truth. Praise. This went on and on for thirteen miles. I told Dave later that this would’ve been a fun classroom activity. Field trip, for sure. Does God know I miss teaching? Absolutely.

As for that daily calling and purpose, perhaps it’s not an activity, event, job, accomplishments, or checking everything off the to-do list. I’ve been guilty of picking and choosing the parts of Scripture I want to see – neglecting crucial course markers like the ones I’ve relied on in some pretty gnarly terrain. Easy to get off course without even realizing it until you’re in unfamiliar and potentially dangerous territory. The verse right after Hebrews 12:1 is one of those crucial course markers I’ve often missed:

“We do THIS by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith.”

“THIS” is running with endurance, finishing strong with what ever God gives you and where ever God puts you regardless of your mood that day or which way the wind is blowing. Guess what? Daily calling and purpose are also not a feeling. Much like so many days I didn’t feel like sticking to my training plan or showing up to races lately, I can’t rely on whether I feel like getting out there or not. *Sidenote: this 55 year old’s hormonal mood swings are also not to be relied upon.

Yesterday God used these words through my friend Erin to get me to open up my laptop: “You help me see Him in the details. Keep sharing my friend.” My OCD self really wishes “friend” was a five letter word. Lol. Hey, laugh is five letters. So is write, story, and build. Here you go, Erin!

And here’s to pressing onward in 2022, seeing God in the details every mile, every turn, every step, every word.

“I’m not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. Friends, don’t get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I’ve got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I’m off and running, and I’m not turning back.” Philippians 3:12-14 MSG

I love October. Always have. Yeah, it’s my birthday month…but oddly, for much of my life I hated celebrating my birthday. More on that another time. This year will go down as my favorite birthday ever.

Can I first confess I went into this month with a whole lot of nervous anxiety?

As I’m writing, I’m watching wind whip the trees back and forth outside and rain coming down sideways. I just got back from taking Dave to the airport and got a text from him with this screenshot of his 10am Chicago Midway fight status:

Update #1: His flight left on time.

Nothing like hearing nationwide news at the beginning of the month about thousands of cancelled flights when you’re scheduled to make one of the most important flights of your lifetime. I mean I suppose we could’ve played it safe and started out the week before the wedding driving from Indiana to California. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that as our flight was not cancelled and left on time. In fact, all of our out of town family and guests arrived gorgeous Lake Tahoe without a hitch. The only hitch that weekend would be that of the bride and groom. See what I did there?

If you’re prone to obsessing over details and travel logistics, maybe a destination wedding is not for you. Having said that, I am in complete awe of the level of detail Meagan put into every imaginable aspect of her wedding. For starters, a “glass” wedding invitation with individually wax-sealed envelopes and hand cut dried babies breath?!

Of course, each guest table seating card was done in matching wax-seal. Then there were the wedding favors. The cake and dessert bar. The vow books. The anniversary wine box. The Disney movie “UP” themed guest sign-in keepsake. The bridal party’s personalized gift boxes – especially my “mom candle.” And don’t even get me started on the father daughter dance and her gift to Dave.

I mean I could go on and on…

I don’t know how many times and to how many people over the last few months I’ve said “I want a re-do on my wedding!” Speaking of my wedding, for 33 years my dress and veil have been hermetically sealed in the same box and kept in storage until Meagan asked me earlier this year if she could borrow my veil. No, not to wear, but to have small portions of the headpiece detail and veil material custom made into her garter. I was touched that she’d want to incorporate my veil into her special day and even more touched when I saw the finished product:

My life verse embroidered into her garter. STAAAWP IT ALREADY! As if everything wasn’t already making me cry. BTW, I had the honor of speaking at the ceremony. I’ll give you one guess which verse I used! *see previous blogpost

I must have gotten all the ugly crying out months before because I held it together pretty well on wedding day. It was the men who lost it. Nathan during his vows and Dave during his reception speech. It was absolutely perfect. In fact, everything that day was perfect. Perfect because every detail, every moment seemed to have God’s handprints all over it. Yes, even the gusts of wind dramatically whipping through the outdoor ceremony which prompted much prayer as I had earlier nervously watched the florists securing the floral arrangements on the altar frame.

Ahh yes, that weather thing. As if to further punctuate the day with one more gigantic exclamation mark, God held off a snow storm until precisely the moment the newlyweds made their grand exit into Nathan’s truck with the JUST MARRIED banner on the tailgate, friends and family cheering, accompanied by snow flurries sending them off down the mountain.

Update #2: Yesterday’s (10.24.21) storm brought record breaking rain and flooding. High wind advisory and chains required to/from Tahoe area with four feet of snow at the higher elevations aka the wedding venue.

I woke up this morning (10.25.21) to this text from a friend who was also at the wedding: “Glad the wedding was last Sunday instead of last night.” AMEN, SISTAH! I can’t even fathom the kind of pivoting we would’ve had to do and mess we would’ve encountered had the wedding been one week later – yesterday.

Instead, we got to enjoy my favorite season of the year at one of our favorite destinations in one of the world’s most scenic destinations with many of our favorite people.

I’m sitting here now eight days – post wedding – marveling at God’s timing, provision, and favor. All the answered prayers – even those I didn’t know I needed to pray. God knew.

His timing is everything. I’ve never been more in awe of it and its impact on my faith as well as ability to understand and articulate His word in a meaningful way. And so often in the most unexpected moments…

The Sunday before the wedding, our church’s message was based on Matthew 25:40.

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’”

No, it wasn’t any of the famous wedding Scriptures. It actually wasn’t wedding related at all. But since it’s my birthday month, it’s all part of why this has shaped up to be the best – and most meaning filled – birthday ever. You see, our church just did a 180 on the traditional concept of giving and ministry. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard Matthew 25:40 usually at church events or concerts that gave opportunities to support orphans or the most needy of children from third world countries. There would be hundreds of children’s photos to choose from. How do you choose? Every time I walked away with twinges of guilt and rationalized “someone else will do it.” That Sunday (10.10.21) our church did a flip-a-roo and offered the opportunity for ME to be the one chosen by a child. BOOM! That’s the sound of my head exploding. I signed up online, uploaded my photo which would then be printed out from the World Vision office in Ghana and placed on a wall along with hundreds of other photos for a child to select from on “Chosen Day.” Can I tell you I’ve never been so humbled? And nervous. I actually said to Dave “What if no one picks me?” What if my photo is the last one left on the wall? This is the photo I submitted:

Yesterday was the big reveal day in Ghana. It was originally supposed to be last Sunday which was wedding day, but they had to open up an additional reveal day since the first one filled up so quickly. A good problem to have – well done, church. So, I got to give my undivided attention yesterday to two children in Ghana as they were revealed in a special email to me. Meet Tagarpuwob (4) and Clifford (6)!!

I’m still waiting for Tagarpuwob’s letter, but here’s Clifford’s letter written with assistance and translation:

I suppose this all might seem a little odd – the juxtaposition of these events. But really, they’re each interwoven in the themes of new hope, a brighter future, keeping commitments, deepening faith, and seeing Jesus’ handprint in all the details.

When I think about this birthday month, it really has been one gift after another in the form of so many incredible friends and family members along with every answered prayer and new memories to cherish. These are truly the best kind of gifts as they are the ones that will keep on giving.

“You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last—and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you.” John 15:16

On the morning of the wedding, I non-intentionally woke up extra early. Lots of prayers swirling through my head and heart. One of them was for the day to not pass by in a blur. I wanted to remember, embrace, and savor each moment. My heart was already so full after the wedding, but God was like “No, there’s room for more!” Back in the old days – a million years ago when Dave and I got married – you opened gifts after you got back from your honeymoon. Yesterday, my gift was opening that email with Tagarpuwob and Clifford’s pictures. God sure knew how to put a big beautiful bow on October.

*My unedited speech from the ceremony on 10/17/21:

“And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us.” Hebrews 12:1 NLT

I was both surprised and deeply honored that Meagan asked me to read this verse today. Surprised because for years all I’ve heard from Natalie and Meagan is

“MOM, DO YOU HAVE TO MAKE EVERYTHING ABOUT RUNNING?”

She took a big risk having me up here as she knows I could talk for hours about this particular verse.

It’s not your traditional wedding Scripture, but it really should be since running a marathon is the greatest analogy to life. The highs and lows. Finding the right pace. Striving for new personal bests. Encouraging one another to challenge him or herself AND being that person’s best cheerleader. The struggle when you hit a wall. The emotional and physical pain. The moments you wanna DNF aka quit. The times you forget why you’re even in this race…

Meagan and Nathan, here we are standing at the start line of your most important race. Surrounded by family and friends here for the sole purpose of cheering you on in YOUR race. This moment has been months in the making. But your training began years beforehand.

I remember years ago when Alexa [glance over at bridesmaid] was at our house, and I had just come home from a run. You were probably just making polite conversation when you asked me HOW do you run a marathon? I’ll never forget the look of disappointment on your face when I said “YOU RUN A LOT OF MILES.” I think you were hoping the answer was a magic pill or endurance drink.

Meagan and Nathan, I’m one of your biggest fans and it is my honor to cheer you on in this marathon called marriage; BUT there is ONE greater who will be at your side every step, every mile, every moment. The ONE who knows your strengths and weaknesses – even when you don’t. The ONE who knows a thing or two about sacrifice, going the distance, and finishing strong. You have the ultimate running coach in Jesus.

May you allow Him to help you reach new personal bests each day. May you learn how to lift each other up when the other is sidelined. May you find deep joy from staying the course keeping your eyes on the ultimate prize.

I love you, Meagan and Nathan. Don’t ever stop running the race God has marked out for you.

Oh, and yes, Natalie and Meagan, I do have to make everything about running…

[reveal customized wedding Hokas]