“Open your mouth and taste, open your eyes and see— how good God is. Blessed are you who run to him.” Psalm 34:8 MSG

Where are all my foodies out there? The galaxy revolves around Michelin stars in the restaurant universe. For a chef or restaurant to be awarded a Michelin star is considered one of the most prestigious honors and pinnacle of ones career. The highest ranking is three stars. There are currently only fourteen restaurants in the U.S. with this distinction and seven are in Northern California. You might’ve heard of Chef Thomas Keller’s French Laundry as well as Gordon Ramsay for his TV show and restaurant of the same name, Hell’s Kitchen. Special occasions in the Tang household often call for extraordinary meals – even a Michelin star restaurant once in a blue moon.

When the moon isn’t blue and stars don’t need to be Michelin, we usually rely on Yelp to discover new restaurants. The highest rating is five stars. But beware of restaurants with a five-star rating if there are only a few reviews as anyone can get their closest friends to write stellar reviews even if they haven’t actually dined at the establishment. It’s rare, if non-existent, to have a legit five-star restaurant that doesn’t have at least a few fours thrown in there especially if it’s been around for awhile. Our favorite gelato place is currently a solid five-star with 446 reviewers of which a handful gave three or two stars. The owner, whom we have met and adore, shouldn’t be too worried about those. After all, one reviewer admitted she prefers ice cream and another was disappointed they didn’t have a very specific flavor. Guava, really?

Dave and I currently own two small restaurants and have seen our share of positive reviews over the last six years since we opened – thank goodness! We’ve tried very hard to personally address any legitimate negative reviews to earn back the customers’ trust and business (not the trolls who drop nasty comments or lengthy reviews that have nothing to do with the restaurant). However, negative reviews can serve as good re-training as well as eye-opening opportunities to improve service and see our businesses from new perspectives. One of our restaurants is currently rated 4.4 stars with 262 reviews on Google and 4.5 stars with 236 reviews on Yelp. Not too shabby. I mean, c’mon, even the world renown 43 year-old French Laundry is 4.5 stars with 2,669 reviews on Yelp.

I love that our favorite local dessert place is 52 year-old Meadowlark Drive-Thru dairy with its consistently energetic, enthusiastic, polite high schoolers serving us the best soft-serve cones we’ve ever had. And I wasn’t even a soft-serve fan before! Would you believe they’re rated 4.8 stars with 1,394 Google reviews? That’s better than French Laundry.

You know what else I love? A good go-to metaphor for life. Analogy. Word picture, if you will. After all, I have long feasted on God’s many running and racing references in Scripture that have become my go-to’s whenever I come to bumps in the road, hit a wall, or crave accountability.

“The Five-Star God” metaphor did not come to me dining at an extravagant five-course, more silverware than you need, teeny birdlike portions (when the menu says “reduction of” anything) restaurant. It came to me at my desk by a window with the brightest morning light streaming in as if to say “Take note of this moment!” The light was almost blinding – it was that bright. It felt good, warm, and comforting on my face. Oddly, my mind went to the lyrics of a song that’s been stuck in my head: “Terrify the Dark” by Skillet.

Funny, I just realized the band’s name is Skillet, as in frying pan. Skillet diehards are known as Panheads. In interviews, it’s been said that the band had all the ingredients for success as their pastor keenly saw with their different rock styles that produced a unique sound when combined…like in a big skillet. Okay, not to belabor the food metaphor thing, but c’mon.

“Terrify the Dark” has been on my run playlist on and off this past year (*see notes below on its release date circumstances). I put it back on last week specifically for my upcoming Double Dipsea hill training playlist. Forty-three songs and this is the one that has been stuck in my head. This morning I realized why.

The enemy is terrified when God allows things to come to light. Satan’s go-to strategy is to keep us in the dark. To close as many curtains that could let in light. To keep blinders on us. To become completely acclimated and comfortable with darkness. To live in fear, guilt, and shame. To be afraid to hope. To shut out any possibility of experiencing GOD’S BEST so that we settle for so much less.

In many ways I’ve been living in the dark this past year and probably longer if I’m being completely honest with myself. Can I admit here that I’ve used the pandemic and quarantine as an excuse for staying in the dark? But now that things are slowly returning to “normal,” I’ve run out of excuses for staying within the comfort of my own four walls and allowing myself to sink deeper into depression as I did some days. How is it possible that someone who used to love and crave being around thousands of runners, dozens of kids, friends, family, and even ministry events could find herself shying away from it all and even looking for reasons to cancel? I’d find myself rationalizing why I shouldn’t go. It was just more comfortable staying home. But then I felt worse because I knew I missed a good opportunity, like missing out on a really good meal.

Opportunity: an open window for God to shine His light in ways I simply could not cook up on my own. A recipe for a new mouthwatering dish if only I was willing to open the cookbook and follow the directions. Or these days, click on “jump to recipe.” I used to love dining out – still do – but had forgotten how enjoyable it is to gather with friends and family to feast on great conversation and cuisine as I was very recently reminded. Bavette’s of Chicago (4.8 star) and DishDash of Sunnyvale (4.6 star) certainly made for great reminders.

The thing with any review, be it five-star or one-star, is that it is completely subjective. During my prayer time, sitting at the desk by the window with the light streaming in, it dawned on me that God is in the five-star business – nothing less will do – and that absolutely nothing can or will ever change that review.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” James 1:17 NIV

I’m not scared of the dark, but I absolutely hate a dark room. Every morning, the first thing I have to do is open every single window blind to its full exposure. Ironic that I have been “living in the dark” and avoiding light in my prayer times – which are not limited to a few minutes in the morning but really all day and even when I’ve determined to have some serious Jesus and me time on a run. Bottom line: I’ve been afraid of what God might expose – and even worse – what God might convict me to actually do.

Hold on a sec here…

I just read that last line back to myself. Those be some strong words. Why don’t I just edit it out? Exactly the point. Because it is the truth God revealed to me, so I’m not about to mess with it to sound more appetizing. Why water down, essentially compromise, God’s truth? Would Thomas Keller water down his famously rich chicken broth? Would Gordon Ramsay allow a less than stellar signature beef wellington to leave his kitchen? The point is that we have a God who will stop at nothing to show us He is five-star and Satan is below one star. Far below. Don’t settle.

“Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man who trusts in Him!” Psalm 34:8 NKJV

That is my prayer. For myself, for my family, for my friends, for this nation. May Jesus, the Light of the world, shine brightest when we are at crossroads, facing the uncomfortable, and in our darkest moments reveal the glorious meal that is before us. May we choose to dine with Him.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:5 NIV

‘Jesus spoke to the people once more and said, “I am the light of the world. If you follow me, you won’t have to walk in darkness, because you will have the light that leads to life.”’ John 8:12 NLT

“Terrify the Dark” by *Skillet

No power on Earth, no power in Hell
Is gonna steal my peace
Ten thousand enemies, they will
End up on their knees
When I’m hopeless, I can know this, you’re with me

Your light will terrify the dark
I call upon the name
That tears the night apart
My doubt will answer to Your scars
And fear will have no place
No hold upon my heart

Your light will terrify the dark
Your light will terrify the dark

Where could I run? Where could I hide?
You’re breaking in on me
Restore the ruins of my life
From rags to royalty
I can see you, I believe you, I trust you

Your light will terrify the dark
I call upon the name
That tears the night apart
My doubt will answer to Your scars
And fear will have no place
No hold upon my heart

Your light will terrify the dark
Your light will terrify the dark

Break in on me till all I see is You, is You
Break in on me ’cause all I need is You, is You

*Skillet sent “Terrify The Dark” to Christian adult contemporary radio stations on August 7, 2020. The song was a good one for the troubled times. “We are living in a dark, chaotic time,” [lead singer/songwriter] Cooper said. “People are angry. People are scared. There’s violence. There’s racism. People are screaming at each other. People just don’t know what to do. It’s awesome to know that with all of these powerful forces of darkness that they all still have to answer to the greatness of one name – the name of Jesus Christ. His word is true. He is always faithful. He is always with us. We don’t have to be afraid! I hope this song encourages you, because we’re living through a pretty difficult time right now.”

Source: www.songfacts.com/facts/skillet/terrify-the-dark

For Mother’s Day this year, I ran marathon #55 in my mom’s honor. It was a picture perfect spring day at the Morton Arboretum in Lisle, Illinois where my daughter lives. The plan was to do the 7.5 miles of the paved East and West routes 3.5 times around with my car parked conveniently in between serving as my lone aid station. The first loop was glorious. It was everything I had hoped it would be complete with sprays of soft purple trees everywhere the eye could see reminding me of mom as she loved purple.

I was overcome with emotion and wished I’d brought my sunglasses to hide the tears streaming down my face. I spent most of loop one praising and worshipping the One who created this beautiful setting and being reminded with every mile of how He cares for “the birds in the sky and lilies of the field” and how much more He cares for me.

As planned, I tore into a GU energy gel at mile 6 then stopped at my “aid station” after that first 7.5 miles put down half a can of coconut water. Onward to loop two.

Business as usual. After all, this wasn’t my first rodeo. I asked God to help me notice things on each loop that I hadn’t previously. Purple magnolias, a crabapple tree statue, low hanging fragrant white flowers. How did I miss these the first time? I also thought about how mom would’ve enjoyed this arboretum. She used to love taking the grandkids to the arboretum in our home town whenever we visited. Lots of other fond memories of mom and even some funny ones popped up along the way as I approached mile 14 and my third energy gel. I was now really looking forward to my next aid station stop as the quads and calves seemed to start tightening up. I needed salt. I got to my car and ate a couple of handfuls of salted mixed nuts and took in more water.

I had made good time and kept a consistent pace for the first half of the marathon. Confession: I hate miles 15-17. It’s at this point in almost every one of my previous 54 marathons I’ve wanted to quit or prayed Jesus would come right then and there. This is the part of the race when the honeymoon is over. Even at the peak of my running fitness, I mentally and emotionally loathed these next miles. There’s just so much race still to run and no end in sight. Don’t get me started on those well-meaning spectators who cheer “ALMOST THERE!” when you’re not even close.

I dunno what it was about yesterday’s run, but it was almost as if I had checked out after mile 17 or so of loop three. The tank was now empty on every level. It was new territory for me perhaps because this was my first time using my car as an aid station which now became my biggest temptation to quit. Maybe that made it easy to rationalize: “Had I accomplished what I had set out to do which was remember my mom?” “She wouldn’t want me to continue this suffer fest!”

“WHY AM I STILL OUT HERE?” “WHAT’S THE POINT?”

The weather turned from clear, sunny, and ideal running temp to cloudy, cold, and windy. Headwind, of course. I was really glad I wore layers and put my long sleeve tech shirt back on. I’m still trying to get used to layering on runs since moving from California to Indiana last year.

I had to dig deep into my arsenal of Bible verses that I usually wield when things get tough during races. During a section of loop three and probably three miles of just repeating verses over and over, the Holy Spirit reminded me of Psalm 121 prompting me to look up through a very tall forested section of the road to see a leaf covering that was literally glowing.

“I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.”

The sky was clear again. It was completely quiet except for the gentle rustling of leaves from a slight breeze. “Be still and know that I am God” came to mind. But how can I be still whilst continuing to run? You quiet your mind of distracting thoughts is how. You continue to wield the Sword of the Spirit with verses like “Take captive every thought to the obedience of Christ Jesus.” You praise Him every time your Garmin beeps another mile done. You declare God has authority over the next mile and submit that mile to Him – one mile at a time, every mile.

One of the best marathon surprises is when you think you’re at a certain mile but then you look at your watch and it’s one mile more than you thought! Such was the case as I reached mile 20. Conversely, when you think it’s a certain mile and it’s less, you kinda wanna cry.

They say the marathon doesn’t really start until mile 20. “They” are not wrong. Many times I’ve said to myself “I just need to get to mile 20; then I know I can make it to the finish!” There’s nothing magical about crossing mile 20; however, something does kinda click – for good and sometimes bad – at that point.

The good: You know you’ve prepared and trained for a solid 10k and tell yourself these last six miles are just like another mid week run. You focus on that place you are familiar with even though you’re actually entering into unknown territory since your longest run was likely only 18-20 miles. Don’t think about that part! Think about what you know and how to get there. You’ve done this distance SO many times! From my driveway, through our neighborhood, past several kiddie parks, past my girls’ high school, up over that hill I love to hate, then back home with a strong finishing kick.

The bad: Happened yesterday. I felt horrible those last six miles. It wasn’t even all physical pain. I think I was emotionally done-zo. Another confession: I almost forgot my Garmin leaving the hotel in the morning, and it crossed my mind that since it’s a virtual, self-supported race, NO ONE WOULD EVER KNOW if I didn’t actually run the entire 26.2 miles! Right?

The advantage of having parked my car conveniently in the middle of my course loop was easy access to my race hydration and nutrition. The disadvantage was knowing I could hop in my car at any point, call it a day, and no one would know. I’m not talking about cheating – I’m talking about ending misery and cutting a race short because self-preservation was now priority number one.

Yesterday was my third self-supported marathon since Covid began. The previous two were run on local out-and-back trails. No choice but to run the entire distance when you have to somehow get back to the car. Yesterday was my first marathon with a multiple loop course.

You wanna know what kept me going those last few miles yesterday? ACCOUNTABILITY. Not a PR. Not a medal. Not bragging rights.

The last few weeks on the Run for God Run Club Facebook group page I’ve read several posts by C2M (Couch to Marathon) members sharing everything from discouragement and frustration to desperation and perceived failure. During yesterday’s run, I thought a lot about one post in particular from a couple of days ago in which the member shared that she and her husband were discouraged with their lack of progress and did not think they would make it through the whole program.

I wrestled with whether to reply on this particular post because I realized when I first read it that I didn’t have a good answer. I actually felt ill-equipped to provide any sort of productive running advice or even minimal amount of spiritual encouragement. It wasn’t until the last two miles of my suffer fest to the finish line yesterday that it hit me:

I’m accountable to Jesus and need to finish this race SO that I can encourage others.

Not a coincidence last week’s key Scripture from 2 Corinthians 4:7-18 MSG [emphasis mine] in my Bible study group focused on the purpose of sharing in Christ’s suffering:

“If you only look at us, you might well miss the brightness. We carry this precious Message around in the unadorned clay pots of our ordinary lives. That’s to prevent anyone from confusing God’s incomparable power with us…

We’ve been surrounded and battered by troubles, but we’re not demoralized; we’re not sure what to do, but we know that God knows…

While we’re going through the worst, you’re getting in on the best!

We’re not keeping this quiet, not on your life.

And what we believe is that the One who raised up the Master Jesus will just as certainly raise us up with you, alive. Every detail works to your advantage and to God’s glory: more and more grace, more and more people, more and more praise! So we’re not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. There’s far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can’t see now will last forever.”

It all makes sense now! What God allows us to experience is not only for our benefit but for benefit of others! I mean I knew that intellectually, but God illustrated this lesson for me yesterday right there during my lowest point of my marathon. God’s purpose for me finishing what we’d set out to do that morning was so I could encourage others to do the same – persevere ESPECIALLY when we don’t want to or when we don’t see the point!

One of the lessons God taught me when I was a third grade teacher has proven to be a reliable source of replenishment – dare I say better than any energy gel or drink – whenever I hit “the wall” or wanna give up. It was the Jacob and Esau lesson in which Esau, in his greatest moment of weakness, traded his birthright for a bowl of lentil stew. A bowl of lentil stew? Really? Even if you’re a huge fan of lentils, how desperate do you need to be to give up your future place in history, your legacy, and all the privilege that comes with it, for this momentary, temporary, fleeting hunger fix? When I used to be obsessed with diets and weight loss, the mantra was “A moment on the lips, forever on the hips.” My third graders had a little more compassion for Esau than I did as they reasoned that he probably thought he was about to die anyway, so what good is a birthright to him at that point?

Yesterday at around mile 24, I repeated over and over again the same four words I’ve said at this point in previous marathons: “DON’T BE AN ESAU!” In other words, don’t give in to the temporary pain! Don’t cheat yourself out of what God has in store for you! Don’t trade what God wants to give you for temporary relief! Don’t give up the glorious finish to the race God marked out for you! Don’t forsake what God wants to birth in you!”

Today being my first Mother’s Day without my mom, I’m thankful for how God allowed me to learn all these poignant lessons as I ran my marathon in my mom’s honor.

Natalie turns 26 this week. I tried to convince her it’d be super cool to run her first marathon this year. Run a mile for every year you’ve been alive. I dunno why she rejected my birthday commemoration idea. I mean who wouldn’t wanna run 26.2 miles to celebrate a momentous occasion? Okay, everyone put your hands down.

Fine. I’ll just have to run it for you.

My plan is to run 3 1/2 loops around the beautiful Morton Arboretum which is four minutes from Natalie’s apartment. I will stop first for coffee at my beloved Peet’s since Lisle, Illinois has the closest Peet’s this side of the Mississippi. I knew there was a reason God moved Natalie and Zach to Lisle.

The spring blooms are in full force now. I figured they would be given the blankets of little purple blossoms peeking out from the remnants of *snow we saw on our last visit in March. *Lisle is only 30 minutes from downtown Chicago. Besides the abundant evidence of spring, Morton also boasts some gentle rolling hills which I prefer over completely flat roads when running 26.2 miles. I’ll park my car in one of the lots along the 7.5 mile loop to serve as my aid station. No heavy hydration vest to schlepp on my back like my previous self-supported marathons. Also at-hand are nice, clean conveniently located restrooms if needed. I definitely won’t miss standing in those long porta-potty lines at races. Another bonus to running at Morton!

Good plan, right? Makes me appreciate even more all that goes into planning an actual race. Shout out to my awesome race director friends out there.

Speaking of plans, this past year was the year of be-ready-to-change-those-plans. My last in-person marathon was 2019 San Francisco. I was also registered for the Chicago Marathon, but it happened to fall exactly on the date my dad passed away in October. I had deferred my race registration to 2020 when I knew my dad’s time to cross his finish line here on earth was approaching. Of course, once Covid hit, all 2020 marathons were cancelled or switched to virtual which means you run wherever/whenever you want (before a set deadline) in one continuous segment, track and submit your finish time then they mail you your finisher’s shirt and medal afterwards. On dad’s heaven-versary October 13, 2020, I ran in my dad’s memory a full 26.2 miles from our house, to Main Street, to the local Monon Trail, to the White River bridge near the Indianapolis Art Institute, and back home. No drinking fountains available due to Covid, so hydration vest it was. Not a bad alternative plan to running the streets of Chicago.

I usually register early for races to take advantage of early bird pricing but also to put my training on the calendar as soon as possible. I had optimistically registered in December for the April 3, 2021 Carmel Marathon. It would be my seventh Carmel and 55th career marathon. My plan was to run one marathon every year coinciding with my age. Peak marathon training would hit during my favorite training weather and colder temps in February/March. Everything was going according to plan. Then I got a very unplanned call from my sister on February 4th.

“Mom has 4-5 days.”

What? I mean, we knew her health had declined with Alzheimer’s this last year, but we thought things were under control for awhile. My previous blogpost goes into way more detail, but basically we scrambled to get the family on a Zoom call that evening to say goodbye. The next morning, I got another unplanned call. Mom was gone.

Even though I was overwhelmed with gratitude for God’s timing which allowed me to “happen” to be in NorCal to see mom one last time, and completely at peace knowing she’s with my dad in eternal glory, I’m not sure I knew how to grieve or process it all. We did the best we could to honor mom via a Zoom memorial which enabled us to connect with relatives across the country and even Taiwan. Remembering all the logistics and expense that went into my dad’s memorial pre-Covid, perhaps my mom would’ve been happier with the convenience of Zoom. Ohhhhh, how she disliked anybody spending money on her or inconveniencing them in any way. Every birthday, Christmas, and Mother’s Day, I got the same call from Mom: “Don’t spend money on me!” No gifts, flowers, cake. Nope, she didn’t want any of it. But what she did cherish was seeing all of us. Spending time together. Laughing, singing, playing games, feeding us even though we were full.

Life after February 5th went on. Random little things reminded me of Mom. The day after she died, seeing a jar of peanut butter on our counter brought on a big, ugly cry. Ohhhhh, how Mom loved peanut butter. I had to pour through hundreds of old photos including Mom and Dad’s wedding album as I was putting together a Celebration of Life video. More ugly crying. Surprisingly, it was harder to write my speech for my mom than it was for my dad. The words just didn’t seem to come unlike with my dad’s speech where I had to trim it from almost 3,000 words to the final *1,168 delivered in-person at the church where he and Mom faithfully served for fifteen years. *I just now looked up that word count since I was curious. Funny that my mom’s speech ended up being 1,205 words. Not that I was counting.

1,205 words to sum up a life – 16 paragraphs, 74 lines. I worked hard to hold back the tears at paragraph 8, line 29, word 446: “Mom was my biggest cheerleader.” I was doing fine up until those words came out of my mouth and seemed to hang there in space both physically and virtually for an eternity. I must’ve somehow regained composure and finished my speech. It was all kind of a blur. The Zoom memorial came and went. Not sure what I expected to feel afterwards. Relief? Closure? More peace? Is there such a thing as “more” peace? I mean, if God gave me undeniable, COMPLETE peace the morning Mom went home to my dad and Jesus, how can I have MORE peace?

Don’t get me wrong; I haven’t been lying awake every night pondering this question. But very recently, it occurred to me that maybe I feel guilty for being okay after Mom died. So different from when Dad died. I was a wreck for what seemed to be a long time. I think after my dad died I actually tried harder to bounce back into life. I know, I know, circumstances were completely different with my dad. My sister and I had to pull it together for my mom who was now living alone in a senior home and not remembering why dad wasn’t around. Literally had to explain every time we saw her that dad was in heaven now.

As a former elementary school teacher, I’d come home every day completely drained – especially Fridays. Teacher friends, you know what I’m talking about. From the moment you step into your classroom until the moment you get home and the bra comes off (sorry guys), you’re in teacher mode. You’re literally “ON” all day with every minute accounted for including restroom breaks. After Dad died, I felt like I had to be “ON” every time I visited Mom. Even now I feel bad saying this but visits were not enjoyable as more often than not there were health and/or memory issues with which to contend. Some of the happier moments were that first Thanksgiving and Christmas when we brought the grandkids to visit and they became the focus. Or when my sister and I took her out for Chinese New Year and the dim sum she hadn’t had in years was the highlight.

I think I have fewer regrets with my mom. For a long time after my dad died, I truly felt like he’d be alive today IF (fill in the blank). If I had done more. If I had done (fill in the blank) sooner. This is where Scripture not only addresses my self-condemnation and answers my questions, but also puts me in my rightful place that I am not God. These two versions of Job 14:5 spell it out:

“Our time is limited.
You have given us only so many months to live
and have set limits we cannot go beyond.” NCV

“Mortals have a limited life span.
You’ve already decided how long we’ll live—
you set the boundary and no one can cross it.” MSG

Perhaps my dad dying first prepared me better for my mom’s death. Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like had Mom gone first. You know what? God spared us a whole heap of heartache with His timing. Not to mention, had my dad lived the few more years I’d originally thought he would, Covid, quarantine, nursing home, Zoom, Parkinson’s…you get the picture. Good thing God didn’t go with my plans.

For the last few years, all I could think about was my dad’s Parkinson’s then my mom’s Alzheimer’s and all the logistics of both – then one day all of a sudden I didn’t have to worry about either anymore. I think it created a void. I’m no longer responsible for them. It’s like reverse empty nesting. After Natalie and Meagan left for college, I wrote a blogpost titled “Empty Nest or Emptiness.” Perhaps, full circle now.

Call it self-preservation or denial, I’ve tried not to think about this upcoming Mother’s Day. But as the day approaches, I can’t avoid the onslaught of TV commercials or Instagram posts reminding us to remember our moms as well as give them the gifts she’ll love. You know what? I never appreciated until now how Mom didn’t enjoy money being spent on her. If only we realized sooner how good we had it.

It didn’t quite hit me until this week why I’ve had a tough time jumping right back into things. Stuff like run club, social media, seeing friends, going to in-person church. Somehow jumping right back into life would feel like I’m done grieving. It would signal that I’m fine. I dunno…am I?

I really have no actual physical excuse for dropping my training for the Carmel Marathon. I just couldn’t get my heart and brain to go with the plan. I made the decision somewhat last minute to switch to the virtual race which would give me more time to actually train. But before that I kept going back and forth telling myself I didn’t care how slow my finish time would be due to lack of long run training weeks and I’d just slug it out come race day. But wisdom and better judgment prevailed. Not to mention, I had no desire to ride that struggle bus into one long suffer fest.

When I think about how to best remember my mom on this first Mother’s Day without her, I will focus on all her qualities that make me miss her today. Her love of nature and simple things like flowers and greenery. Her love of her grandkids and how she always asked about Natalie and Meagan as well how she loved going to all their school events and swim meets even though she worried they were getting too much sun, Ai-Ya! Her sacrificial acts like all those weekends she’d drive out to UCLA while terrified of the 405 freeway (who isn’t?) just to pick me up so I could be home for a day. Her concern that Dave was too handsome when I first showed her his photo because she was brought up to believe a handsome husband would not be loyal. Her thriftiness and obsession with clipping coupons as well as saving every disposable container known to mankind. Her love of singing especially to calm a screeching infant Natalie or completely changing the lyrics to my favorite 80’s songs. Her ability to give God praise in all circumstances like when we got that front row parking space in an overcrowded parking lot – “Thanks God!”

But the quality I will focus on and miss the most is that my mom was my best cheerleader. In my Celebration of Life speech, I said that Mom loved to say “WHY NOT?” It was her way of saying I could do anything. And she truly meant it. This weekend when I’m running my virtual Carmel Marathon around Morton Arboretum, I will remember my mom’s simple love of nature and those two words as I run my 55th marathon in her honor: WHY NOT? And I will do it all without spending any money.

“I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.” Jeremiah 29:11 MSG

My sister called me last Thursday afternoon to say the words you never wanna hear. “Mom has 4-5 days.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard Sandy’s voice weak or shaky, but that day it was both as she relayed the info hospice had just delivered.

As I pulled into the parking lot of Mom’s senior community as I had many times before the pandemic hit, memories of our first visit flashed before my eyes. We had researched and toured several other senior homes prior to this one. I knew right away this was the place. Warm, inviting, newly built with modern but classic decor, and didn’t smell musty or like my parents’ kitchen cabinets with decades of to-go containers.

My dad’s Parkinson’s diagnosis was what initiated the search. I could write a novel on the tears, debates, fights, hoops, antics, and subterfuge that followed from January 2018 to June 2019 when we moved my mom into a beautiful two bedroom in the Assisted Living wing. Maybe someday I will write that novel. For now, let me just say that it was a true miracle – God’s gracious, compassionate intervention – right there in the waiting room of the ER as Mom finally agreed to let us move her into the senior home after a year and a half of desperately trying to get them to where we knew would be best. It took my dad lying there in the ER to convince mom. In retrospect, maybe we should have activated Operation Fumigation sooner to get them to move. We actually hid bugs around their house and hired a real termite inspector to come after which I masterfully copied, pasted, photoshopped, and completely altered what would have been a perfectly clean inspection report. We never got to use it. That same day was when I took my dad to the ER and the last day my parents were together in their home.

Their races to the finish line could not have been more different. Dad fought it the whole way. God bless everyone who cared for him at the hospital and skilled nursing home. Long and drawn out. Hit some walls along the course. Periods of denial. Glimmers of hope. Moments of reflection. Much like running a 26.2 mile marathon. They say the marathon doesn’t really start until Mile 20. At that point, everything hurts. Reality hits. There’s not a whole lot you can do to change your outcome. That’s probably when we knew it was time to say goodbye. A very long, painful goodbye.

Dad never made it to the two bedroom apartment we moved mom into fully expecting he would join her soon after. In a matter of days, my sister and I had managed to consolidate/purge some fifty years and 2,200 square feet of furniture, memorabilia, and plants (oh so many plants) into a 600 square foot space. For almost two years, we were so focused on dad’s Parkinson’s that we didn’t see mom’s Alzheimer’s coming. At least not as quickly as it did. Consequently, in her mind and heart, that lovely apartment was not her home. Every day we came to visit, we arrived to see mom had packed all her clothes, taken down all the pictures, and set them by her door ready to leave this “hotel” to go home. Of course, each time we’d gently remind Mom this was her home now, put her clothes back in the closet, and re-hang her pictures.

When dad passed away in October of 2019, I was prepared to relive his passing each time I visited my mom. She would not remember he died. She would ask for us to take her home. She would not eat most of her meals so she could store them in her tiny fridge for my dad to eat when he came back. Even at my dad’s Celebration of Life service at their church, mom saved a seat for him next to her.

I wonder what it might have been like had my mom passed before my dad. Would he remember?

I think I just became numb to the repetition. “No, Mom, dad’s not coming home. He’s with Jesus now in Heaven.” “Mom, this is your home now. You live here now.” “Don’t worry about how much it cost, Mom. It’s all free, so you should eat as much food as you can.” One of the many creative lies, I mean, strategies we employed to help her feel more at ease living in a nice, new apartment.

Those first few months after dad passed are a blur now. Thanksgiving and Christmas 2019 came and went. The senior community did a fabulous job providing activities and a festive atmosphere. We got into a nice groove of weekly visits. I looked forward to playing Bingo with mom and joining her in sing-a-longs as well as Friday exercise classes. And then the pandemic hit. No more in person visits. I did get to visit once last October during one of the less restrictive stages in NorCal. Unfortunately, probably due to the holidays, an uptick in county cases shut down everything except Zoom calls and window visits.

Can I confess I didn’t look forward to those calls and window visits? They say when you get old, your idiosyncrasies and certain habits are magnified. Mom lived to serve you food and make sure you were warm. She also absolutely hated being an imposition to anyone or if you spent a dime on her. *I pretty much just described every Asian grandma. But seriously, multiply this by a thousand, and you have my mom. Couple this with her not remembering that Natalie and Meagan aren’t little kids anymore, and that I retired from teaching, and you get a five minute Facetime call in which she’s nervous cuz she thinks I need to get back to my classroom or pick up the kids or make Dave’s dinner. As for window visits, she was worried we were cold. “Ai-yo! You need a jacket!”

It was exactly a year ago and before the pandemic that Sandy and I got to take Mom out for dim sum to celebrate Chinese New Year. A family fave any time really. This week is Chinese New Year.

Natalie is flying out from Chicago to go wedding dress shopping with Meagan and I. Both girls got engaged last summer. A highlight of 2020. I can’t help but reflect and smile thinking about when my mom and I went wedding dress shopping. We had narrowed it down to two dresses. One definitely edged out the other but was so much more expensive. I’ll never forget the look on my mom’s face when I had THE dress on. She knew it was the one. I said “But it’s so much money. Dad’s gonna kill us!” Without hesitation, she said “Don’t worry!” Meaning she would take the brunt of dad’s anger as she had done so many times in the past because she recognized how important it was to me.

My mom championed many a cause on my behalf. She was also THAT mom who believed I could do anything. Thank goodness American Idol wasn’t around back then. Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a teacher. My mom knew that but along the way continued to be my best cheerleader in everything from dance to singing to art to architecture. “You draw such great straight lines! You could be an architect!” *Or just keep using good rulers.

Friends were always welcome at our house. Growing up in a predominantly white neighborhood and schools back in the 70’s, I didn’t realize I was any different than my white friends. My mom loved and embraced all things about American culture. Well, except any attempt to “copy” Chinese noodles and pot stickers because we all know hers were the best and not to be messed with. And don’t even get her started on how spaghetti and raviolis are just knock-offs. *You can take the girl outta Taiwan, but you’ll never take the Taiwan outta the girl. Mom also loved music. Even MY music. Funny what Alzheimer’s patients remember. Mom couldn’t remember what she ate for breakfast or that dad passed away. But she remembered and frequently spoke of my sixth grade talent show with me and my BFF lip syncing and dancing to Shaun Cassidy’s “Da Doo Ron Ron.” I’m literally cringing as I type this. Another thank-goodness-Facebook-wasn’t-around moment.

Speaking of friends, one of my best memories of Mom is from one particular evening standing in the kitchen with her while she cooked dinner. I even remember how the setting sun was streaming through the window onto Mom’s face. I had come home from high school spring dance show rehearsal (yes, I had some moves back in the day – ha, ha). Mom asked how my day and rehearsal went. I started crying as I told her some of the girls said stuff that hurt my feelings. I’m sure I used a few more choice words, but that’s beside the point. Mom stopped what she was doing, looked up from her cutting board, and with giant Chinese cleaver in one hand simply said “AH, they are not your true friends.” Words to live by.

Another favorite memory with Mom was our trips to the Los Angeles County Arboretum in Arcadia. We went every time I brought Natalie and Meagan to visit from NorCal. She’d push the girls around in the stroller while always on the lookout for Arcadia’s signature peacocks. We’d bring stale bread to feed the koi and ducks in that famous lake where the 70’s TV series “Fantasy Island” was filmed. Say it with me: “Da plane! Da plane!” The arboretum also boasts beautiful rose gardens. Oh, how my mom loved roses. I don’t know how she did it, but her own backyard roses seasonally produced some of the largest, most vibrant blooms. Sadly, I did not inherit her green thumb.

I suppose I could go on and on about favorite memories. One memory triggers another memory and then another. I’m going to have to search through hundreds of photographs in the next few days for her Celebration of Life service. I feel like I just did this for my dad.

Ironic…that whole memory thing.

The summer my dad died, I remember one quiet afternoon in the skilled nursing home sitting on the edge of his bed looking at old photo albums together. Black and white photos with the glue on the back yellowed from time. Last time I saw these albums was decades ago in the Arcadia house where Sandy and I grew up. Their wedding album was surprisingly well preserved. I carefully turned page after page watching my dad’s gaze and reactions. There were engagement and courtship photos. All leading up to the big day. When I got to one particular photo that was a close up of my mom in her wedding dress, it brought a smile that I hadn’t seen in a long time. Dad mustered up the strength to lean in a little closer to the photo then said matter of factly, “She’s pretty!”

They were married on October 10, 1965. I was almost a honeymoon baby. Mom said she liked that date because on an analog clock, the hands at 10:10 look like a smile. Over the years, 10:10 has not only brought me smiles but also joy, peace, hope, healing, conviction, and confidence. Confidence that my mom and dad are now basking in eternal glory with Jesus.

“I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of.” John 10:10 MSG

This verse didn’t always mean the same thing to me. Back in 2014, I got to meet Olympic marathoner and author Ryan Hall at the LA Marathon expo. I fangirled pretty hard that day. Got my photo opp with Ryan as well as his autograph on my race shirt which he signed with John 10:10.

He and his marathoner wife Sara champion many causes, but the one nearest and dearest to their hearts and mine as well is to share the Good News of God’s redemption and salvation for all – like my mom whom we prayed and witnessed to for over 20 years before that day at their San Ramon kitchen table when she decided she wanted Jesus to be her Lord and Savior.

I first embraced John 10:10 during the peak of my marathon training as Ryan inspired me to run with joy no matter what the outcome of a race. I liked the promise of “life to the full” (John 10:10 NIV version) as it worked well with the play on words since I was training for a whole lot of full marathons back then. But I didn’t really wanna think about the words that came right before. You see, the first half of John 10:10 says “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy.” Basically to rob us of our joy. The same joy that God intends for us when we fix our eyes on Jesus, the true prize – not a medal or PR or fame. Not a job or promotion. Not a house or retirement plan. Not even healing from a cruel, memory sucking, physically debilitating disease.

Dad ran his race very differently than Mom. His finish was very different as well. We initially were not told any specific time line for Dad. In fact, we held onto high hopes of him moving in with Mom at her senior home. Maybe if his OT and PT go well. Maybe if he can pass his swallow tests and wean off the feeding tube. Maybe they could have another year together. Maybe months. Dad kind of decided the timing for us as he yanked out his own feeding tube one day. You’ll never guess the date that happened. October 10th. He crossed his finish line three days later.

We found out last Thursday afternoon Mom had 4-5 days. I am completely overwhelmed by God’s timing and grace that I was already here in NorCal when we got the news. I had changed my flight last minute to escape the polar vortex in Indy (yeah, I’m still a California girl). I wasn’t supposed to be here. My Southwest flight was originally booked for THIS Thursday. I would not have made it in time to say goodbye. Sandy and I were allowed to visit in person that evening and got the whole family on a Zoom call to say goodbye. Mom seemed to see and hear us briefly. After the call, Sandy and I told Mom how much she meant to us, thanking her for being the best Mom ever. We reassured her everything would be okay. That we are doing well. We have all eaten. And she didn’t need to worry about anything anymore. Then we sang to her the song she sang countless times to the grandkids when they were babies:

“Jesus loves me, this I know
For the Bible tells me so
Little ones to Him belong
They are weak, but He is strong

Yes, Jesus loves me
Yes, Jesus loves me
Yes, Jesus loves me
The Bible tells me so”

She looked peaceful as I stroked her forehead. How many times did she stroke mine when I was sick? We noticed how nice Mom’s skin was – so soft with a natural blush. She always took good care of her face. Stayed out of the sun. Wore a hat. She always shook her head when she saw my summer tans, and in recent years, sun spots from all the running outdoors. “Ai-yo!”

Mom crossed her finish line the next morning. When we got the call, we thought “Wow! That was fast!” True to form in not wanting to imposition anyone, mom probably saw all the protective gear we had to wear just to see her and until her last breath was probably worried we hadn’t eaten. As my sister and I were leaving her room for the last time, one of her sweet caregivers said “She can finally have dinner with your dad now.” I smiled. Yes, she can.

Hey, Run Club fam! Your first week training posts are giving me all the feels! The Run for God “Couch to Marathon” kick-off was last Sunday. It’s been good – and timely – for me to be reminded of how scary and daunting this commitment really is if you’re starting from ground zero. I will never forget my first run. My first mile. No training plan. No proper running shoes. No fancy Garmin watch. No Facebook. No run club. No idea what I was doing. I was literally tired of being tired, going to work and coming home every day drained of energy with nothing left to give my family. One day I decided enough is enough and went for a run to burn off the crazy after a frustrating week.

I knew the trails in our neighborhood like the back of my hand from walking our dog Oski countless times. I kind of knew approximate distances from one point to the next. But that day I set out to run a mile – without stopping – from my driveway to the park that was my usual rest stop with Oski. That mile changed me forever.

Like I said, I had no Garmin, so I have no clue how fast or slow I was going. All I remember is that my lungs were burning and my legs felt like concrete. I think I might’ve cried actual tears. Well, duh, that’s what happens when you have no training or body to back it up. This line from the movie “Top Gun” popped into my head:

“Son, your ego is writing checks your body can’t cash.”

I mean, c’mon, I was a strong swimmer. No problem swimming a mile at my own comfortable pace in nicely heated pool. Why did I think that meant I could run a mile?

Disbelief and frustration accompanied me home that day. As the three of us walked back up my driveway, anger was there waiting. I realized I was angry at myself. Angry for putting myself in this situation. Angry that I was in so much pain. Angry that my 41 year old body didn’t do what I wanted it to do. But somehow all that anger and frustration fueled me. I remember saying to myself “I never wanna feel this way again!”

Despite the agony of walking up four flights of stairs from the parking lot to my classroom the next day, the pain was a good motivator. You know what else is a good motivator? Your third graders asking “Mrs. Tang, are you okay? Are you crying?” as you walk them down those same stairs to recess and carpool.

The next few months, I bought new running shoes – shoes actually designed for running. True, they were off the sale rack at a local generic sporting goods store, and I didn’t even try them on. Ha, ha! But still, better than what I was running in prior.

This newfound passion and desire to get some sort of fitness monkey off my back quickly led to working out almost every day of the week, eating better, increasing mileage, and signing up for my first race – the See Jane Run Women’s Triathlon in September 2008. Swim a 1/4 mile, bike 11 miles, run a 5K. *The biking thing is a whole other story. Ironically, the leg I was most terrified of was the swim (my strength) since my first AND last swim event did not exactly go swimmingly. I was one of the last finishers in this one mile lake swim. My teenage daughter was waiting for me on shore at the finish chute with those words everyone wants to hear: “Mom, an 83 year old just finished four minutes before you.”

PSA #1: If you’re going to compete in a lake swim, you need to train in a lake.

Swimming in cold, murky, open water with hundreds of arms and legs thrashing around you and very little reference point for directionality is 100% nothing like swimming in a heated pool in your own lane at your gym. That day might’ve been the closest I’d come to genuinely thinking I was about to meet my Maker. That is until I started running marathons.

Back to that triathlon… Imagine my sheer joy, relief, and elation coming out of the lake that day as I ran to the transition area to start the biking segment. “I LIIIIIIIVVVE!!!” (Said in that Mushu the dragon from Mulan voice.) The rest of the race was a blur. I don’t remember any segment or finish time. All I know is I felt like I had just qualified for the Olympics. On the drive home, I had to tell someone. I called my good friend and colleague who had been praying for my race. “Pam, I did it! I did it! I finished!” She was thrilled for me.

Call it runner’s high, adrenaline, or whatever; but I had caught the race bug. I did four more triathlons after that first one before deciding that it’s really hard training for three different sports simultaneously. I switched my focus to running. And when I say “switched my focus,” I mean “became obsessed” with running. I always had a change of clothes and running shoes in the car so I was always prepared to get a run in after work or while the girls were at piano lessons. That was the best workout since their piano teacher lived at the peak of a hilly neighborhood. “Great! Hill training!” *A necessity and foreshadowing of the training I did not yet know I would need.

My very first run specific race was in my hometown of San Ramon – the Run Like the Wind Half Marathon on March 29, 2009. I ran it in a cotton t-shirt, regular shorts (the kind you might wear to a picnic), and my same discount pair of running shoes. Still no Garmin, no training plan leading up to it, no pre-race carbs, and no race hydration/fuel. I seriously don’t know how I managed to finish in 2:04. I remember feeling disappointed in myself – not about the finish time – but because I hadn’t studied the course map and thought the turn around after mile 11 was the finish and had gone all out at that point which left me hating life the whole last mile.

So many lessons. Yet I had no idea what was coming.

More determined than ever to do better next time, I hopped on my laptop and googled local races itching to sign up for another race. The San Francisco Marathon on July 26th popped up first in my search. A full marathon? Hmmm. It was Easter break. I got out my calendar and counted 16 weeks until the marathon. Then I googled marathon training plans. Hal Higdon dominated that search. Interesting that all his training plans from novice to advanced were 18 weeks. I printed out the novice level thinking it was doable since I was already running what was required 4-5 weeks into the plan. I remember it was then that I stared at this print out, sat back from my desk, and took a deep breath. I was excited and terrified. For the first time since starting this fitness journey, I knew without a doubt that the marathon was waaaaay beyond me. I mean, on paper, it was all mapped out for me. But something about that moment made me think “You are about to take a big leap into the unknown. It will take more time and discipline than you’ve ever committed. And now it’s not just about you.” I had to get Dave’s blessing which is very different from permission. But first, God’s. I asked Him for the green light. Back then I didn’t know enough about all that was involved to ask anything more specific. I got the green light. It was go time.

All was great and went according to plan until about week 11 when the long run was a 16 miler. You know those discount shoes I’d bought that I didn’t bother to try on first? I was starting to get some pain in my shins and plantar. I bought some new shoes – this time I tried them on before buying them. That seemed to help along with doing stretches which I didn’t think I needed until too late.

PSA #2: Don’t wait until you’re in pain to stretch.

Excited to take my new shoes on the road, I quickly hopped right back in the saddle and tried to make up for some lost mileage due to the shin/plantar thing. Two weeks later on what should’ve been an 18 miler, I felt a new excruciating pain in my right outer knee 10 miles in. Boys and girls, let’s say it together: “Iliotibial Band Syndrome.” That was a painful 2 mile walk back to the car. It never occurred to me after that to take a rest day. What? And throw off whole my training plan? What would Hal say? I bought a knee brace instead. Someone should have smacked some sense into me at that point. Long story short, my longest run in this whole marathon training was short of the plan. I only got as far as 15 miles. Why did I think I could still do this?

Surprisingly, my knee held up and didn’t hurt too badly the weeks leading up to the marathon. The week before race day, I had pre-race dreams. Nightmares actually. Like the kind where I fall off the Golden Gate Bridge, or worse, I don’t even make the cutoff and race officials turn me away from the bridge. Race morning came. The sun hadn’t come up yet. I was navigating my way through thousands of runners, vendor tents, and bag drop-off trucks looking for my start corral which was considerably far back from the actual start line. I think I was Wave 7, a good forty minutes after the elite start of 5:30 am. Nerves and cold temps meant another trip to the porta-potties. I thought I had time to hop in one of the shorter lines before my wave start. I mean, really, did I have choice at that point? As I’m standing there in what initially appeared to be a short line, I hear the race announcer over the PA announcing Wave 5, and a few minutes later, Wave 6. Not only am I now doing the potty dance in line, I’m panicking thinking I’m gonna miss my wave start. An eternity later, I get my turn in the porta-potty then sprint to my start corral only to be stopped by race personnel redirecting me to the next wave since mine had just left. That nightmare I had about not making the cut-off time for the Golden Gate Bridge flashed before my eyes. I hopped into the mass of Wave 8 runners, and five minutes later I was crossing the timing mat of my very first marathon.

As with many marathon newbies, I got caught up in the adrenaline rush of the start as well as thinking I had to make up time for missing my wave even though it’s chip timed which means your clock doesn’t begin until you actually cross the timing mat. I had invested in a Garmin a few weeks prior and steadily checked my pace in between taking in the iconic San Francisco scenery which, rightfully so, draws many out of state and international runners. Around mile 3, runners get their first glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge typically shrouded by dense fog. My heart skipped a beat at the sight. I was ahead of my goal pace going up that first big hill leading to the bridge entrance. The San Francisco Marathon is the only race that closes down two lanes of traffic to runners. Unbeknownst to me of what a pace group was, I had been keeping up with the 4:30 group and enjoyed the pace leader’s humor as well as free coaching. This man never broke stride nor was he out of breath as he announced to our pace group that the hill was merely a speed bump. He also said to pull your shoulders back and puff your chest out to make room in your lungs for more oxygen going up the hill. Made sense. If my mom could see me now. She’s been trying to get me to stop slouching my whole life. It took a South African runner who’d just completed a 100 mile race through Europe a week ago to convince me.

The relief and sheer joy I felt when I realized I’d made the bridge cutoff time was overwhelming. It made up for the fact that it was so foggy, I could not see the bay below me (so much for those world famous views). I had to be extra careful as the road was wet and slick. I’m a bit scared of heights, so staying to the left farthest from the bridge railing was the plan; however, that’s where the faster runners live, so I had to go faster than I probably should have.

The other half of my nightmare did not materialize as I didn’t fall into the bay and was now exiting the bridge to start an exhilarating stretch of scenic downhill on the approach to Golden Gate Park. I had no business going the pace I was going down mile 10, but I did. Everything felt good, even my right knee in it’s cumbersome giant knee brace. The views were spectacular – so much so that a few runners stopped to take photos. I definitely passed judgement when I saw them. “Hey, this is a race, ya know! You can be a tourist another day. There goes your PR.” Spoiler alert: those same runners passed me a few miles later.

Golden Gate Park is the finish line of the half marathon if you chose to run the beginning 13.1 miles of the course. It’s also the start line of the second half. Full marathoners run both. At this point, I was feeling the effects of going faster than my goal pace. My quads were also expressing their disapproval of my downhill sprint. Combine that with the mental grind of having to run past the hoopla, medals, and celebration of the half marathon finish knowing you have 13.1 more miles to run, and you’ve got one disheartened runner.

The next scene was surreal. An actual blur. Dozens of lean, muscular, chiseled bodies literally blew past me. Almost stopped me in my tracks. Was I even still running? I was slightly confused at that point until I realized it was the elite runners who’d just started the second half marathon course. The next few waves of runners were definitely not slouches either. My own pace had slowed down significantly by mile 15. In my mind I rationalized to myself “Good thing I banked some fast miles early on.”

PSA #3: Banking fast miles will only lead to misery later on.

Later came sooner.

Everything hurt by mile 16. I think even my hair hurt. I wish I could say I enjoyed the rest of the Golden Gate Park scenery, but I was now focused on managing pain. And pride. Swallowing that along with some GU energy gels and Advil was not easy. I hadn’t walked at all at that point and was determined not to but was reduced to a slow shuffle. In my mind, walking was quitting. *Side note: I now understand the wisdom and mechanics of how run/walk can be a solid, healthier race strategy.

I’ll spare you the tedious details of miles 17 to 22.

My blogsite name is “Running God’s Race” based on Hebrews 12:1. However, I didn’t start embracing and incorporating key verses into my running until several years after that first marathon. Of course, I prayed a whole lot and with tremendous fervor at times. I’d never been great at memorizing Scripture despite telling folks they should, leading many a Bible study, and teaching in a Christian elementary school. So when a bright yellow shirt with distinct black lettering suddenly appeared from nowhere at mile 22, I knew God was not only answering my cries (no, not the ones to end my misery and take me home) but doing so with His very Word at exactly the right time. The bright yellow shirt was simple with TEAM 4:13 written across the top. Underneath was Philippians 4:13 which I never thought would mean as much to me as it did at that moment running through the famous Haight Ashbury district:

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

My heart quickened as did my pace. I had to keep up with the yellow shirted runner. It was as if God sent me my own personal pacer. I kept my eyes focused on the words written on the back of that runner’s shirt. In retrospect, he probably thought I was some sort of creeper or trying to draft behind him since I was running close enough behind that he could hear me breathing.

I stayed with him for almost two miles and was both surprised and disappointed he stopped before the mile 24 marker to hydrate. I was imagining an epic dramatic finish as I crossed the last timing mat with that famous verse leading me in. As I passed this runner (who has no idea how he’s just impacted my race), I said “Love your shirt! Praying for you, bro!” He looked up, mustered a smile, and looked back down at his shoes seemingly in pain. I continued to say that verse over and over whilst praying for this fellow runner to finish strong.

I thought surely this was the booster jet I needed to carry me gracefully across the finish. Alas, the pain and misery came in greater waves as the bay fog had lifted and temps had risen. The race was no longer about miles but now about putting one foot in front of the other. It felt like an eternity until the next mile marker. The turn after mile 25 revealed a glorious sight. I’m not a baseball fan, but AT&T Park on a sunny day signifying the last mile of your first marathon is quite a sight to behold. The ball park on your left, the shimmering San Francisco Bay on your right, and the mile 26 marker up ahead… I might’ve cried happy tears at that point.

I distinctly remember saying to myself “I’m never doing this again!” The excruciating pain briefly eclipsed by the joy of crossing the finish line was only the beginning. No one told me about post-race muscle soreness. Or that I should really make it a point to walk around the days to follow. I never thought there could be pain that rivaled childbirth. I was wrong.

Funny thing, I didn’t think I’d have another child after the labor pains of the first. But when you’re holding this incredible, beautiful, living, breathing miracle of a mini person for which you waited and prepared almost nine months, somehow all the pain is forgotten. Dare I say, that is the case with the marathon. I not only signed up for another marathon shortly after, but went on to finish 10 more San Francisco marathons plus others all over the state and country for a total of 54 to date. All of them completed through Christ who gives me strength.

The point of today’s blogpost: to remember the pain is worth it.

Friends, whether it’s training for a marathon, parenting, marriage, career, ministry, or relationships, they all had to start somewhere and probably all began with passion and enthusiasm but were inevitably met with some form of discouraging, at times, painful challenges.

It’s been said that running a marathon is the greatest metaphor for life. It’s also been said that it doesn’t get easier; you get stronger.

I started this whole blogging thing fall of 2014 as a result of how God has coached me through a whole lot of “races” aka chapters in my life since giving me the green light on that first marathon. I absolutely love that the New King James version of Hebrews 12:2 says that Jesus is the AUTHOR and FINISHER of our faith! He has written, illustrated, punctuated, edited, and revised the way I train and run each race. This blogpost is Chapter 80. As a good friend pointed out last year, these chapters have become less about my actual running and more about, well…life. Paralleling faith and endurance. Hmmm…where have I seen that before?

Heading into Week 2 of Couch to Marathon training, may you be encouraged even if you have NO CLUE what shoes, socks, leggings, sports watch, energy drinks, running surfaces are best OR if you should run through injury or a cold OR you’re scared taking a rest day will throw your whole training off OR what pace/distance is best for your current fitness level OR it feels like others are progressing faster. BE ENCOURAGED in the fact that as we approach our first marathon from different places in life, we all begin in the same way. One step at a time. One mile at a time…

No, I’m not talking about redwoods… Or Dean Karnazes, Ryan and Sara Hall, Joan Benoit, or Usain Bolt. I’m not even talking about runners who have been so hugely impactful, you know them by their nicknames: Meb, Flo Jo, Pre.

I’m talking about Bible giants. No, not Goliath. Giants of faith.

According to surveys, Moses and Joseph rank highest as favorite Old Testament peeps. Moses being a fave doesn’t surprise me. I mean, c’mon, parting the Red Sea, leading a few million people outta Egypt, and that Ten Commandment thing. Surprisingly, Joseph actually outranked Moses. Must be that coat thing. But there’s so many more layers to Joseph’s story than colors in his famous coat.

I know this only because for years I spent entire quarters teaching the Joseph lesson to third graders at a private Christian school. It was my favorite Bible unit to teach – minus the slightly awkward chapter where Joseph’s boss’ wife tries to seduce poor Joseph. Through 14 chapters and some 24 years during which time he was sold into slavery by his bros, taken to Egypt where he served Potiphar (captain of Pharoah’s guard) diligently for 11 years, spent 2 years in prison thanks to Potiphar’s wife, then was promoted to second in command to Pharoah after finally putting his gift of dream interpretation to good use. In fact, Joseph saved Egypt from famine and, in the process, saved his own family – the same ones who sold him for twenty shekels of silver.

Who doesn’t love a story with a happy ending? Joseph’s story literally brought me and many of my third graders to tears. But what was the big takeaway from his life? Joseph’s unwavering faith. Amazing to 50 year old teachers and 8 year old students alike. How is it he never complained or reveled in self-pity? I have certainly been guilty of whining in far lesser predicaments. Through thick and mostly thin, Joseph stayed the course in trusting that God had a plan.

I should’ve started this post acknowledging that I’m not the one who came up with the title “Running With the Giants.” Sorry, Pastor Steve, you kinda had me at “RUNNING.” In his message last Sunday, our pastor somewhat seriously said this New Year’s sermon series could also have the alternate title: “Giants Who Messed Up!” Wait a second, hold up there! How did Joseph, and for that matter, Moses, mess up?

In our lively third grade conversations, it was not hard to get eight year-olds to see what a spoiled brat Joseph had become and to momentarily side with his eleven brothers. As a mom, to this day, I can’t read about Jacob blatantly lavishing his fave son with that ornate coat without thinking “What a parenting fail!” But the real killer was Joseph’s flaunting which was not limited to the coat and his father’s affections. What sealed the deal was Joseph flaunting his God-given dreams. “Nee-ner, nee-ner! You’re all gonna bow to me someday!”

I admit I struggle with these juvenile actions being part of Joseph’s legacy after all he ultimately went through. Similarly, it seems harsh that after all Moses endured and faithfully accomplished that the “minor technicality” of striking instead of speaking to a rock as God instructed was the reason he would not get to enter the Promised Land. Once again, gotta love third graders’ reactions. “Awww, man! That’s not fair! The Israelites were being so whiny! Moses was just mad at them.”

Joseph was 17 and Moses was 70.

Whether you’re a spoiled, obnoxious teen or an accomplished senior with a glowing resume, one thing remains true: God is more concerned with who we are than what we do.

Well, when you put it that way, Pastor Steve…

Going into a new year – especially after the one we just had – who wouldn’t want a fresh start and renewed hope? Are there parts of 2020 I’d like to erase? Things I wish I didn’t say or do? Entire chapters I’d like to delete? Of course! I’ve probably said that every year. I’ve yet to find an undo or delete key. So, how is it that year after year God continues to bless, protect, and provide abundantly for me and my family? How have we somehow managed to find favor in the direst of circumstances? How am I still standing much less running??? Could it be as straightforward and simple as faith?

“Now Joseph had been taken down to Egypt. And Potiphar, an officer of Pharaoh, captain of the guard, an Egyptian, bought him from the Ishmaelites who had taken him down there. The Lord was with Joseph, and he was a successful man; and he was in the house of his master the Egyptian. And his master saw that the Lord was with him and that the Lord made all he did to prosper in his hand. So Joseph found favor in his sight, and served him. Then he made him overseer of his house, and all that he had he put under his authority. So it was, from the time that he had made him overseer of his house and all that he had, that the Lord blessed the Egyptian’s house for Joseph’s sake; and the blessing of the Lord was on all that he had in the house and in the field.” Genesis 39:1-5 NCV

“But there in jail God was still with Joseph: He reached out in kindness to him; he put him on good terms with the head jailer. The head jailer put Joseph in charge of all the prisoners—he ended up managing the whole operation. The head jailer gave Joseph free rein, never even checked on him, because God was with him; whatever he did God made sure it worked out for the best.” Genesis 39:21-23 MSG

You see, from a very young age, Joseph learned to trust God. Consequently, even in the direst of circumstances, his faith in God’s plan for his life prevailed. Be it feast or famine (see what I did there), Joseph was keenly aware of God’s presence, thus he did not waver in trusting that God was in control.

‘Then Pharaoh sent and called Joseph, and they brought him quickly out of the dungeon; and he shaved, changed his clothing, and came to Pharaoh. And Pharaoh said to Joseph, “I have had a dream, and there is no one who can interpret it. But I have heard it said of you that you can understand a dream, to interpret it.” So Joseph answered Pharaoh, saying, “It is not in me; God will give Pharaoh an answer of peace.”’ Genesis 41:14-16 NKJV

‘“I am Joseph!” he said to his brothers. “Is my father still alive?” But his brothers were speechless! They were stunned to realize that Joseph was standing there in front of them. “Please, come closer,” he said to them. So they came closer. And he said again, “I am Joseph, your brother, whom you sold into slavery in Egypt. But don’t be upset, and don’t be angry with yourselves for selling me to this place. It was God who sent me here ahead of you to preserve your lives. This famine that has ravaged the land for two years will last five more years, and there will be neither plowing nor harvesting. God has sent me ahead of you to keep you and your families alive and to preserve many survivors. So it was God who sent me here, not you! And he is the one who made me an adviser to Pharaoh—the manager of his entire palace and the governor of all Egypt.’ Genesis 45:3-8 NLT

I imagine if Joseph asked God what single accomplishment He is most proud, God’s response probably wasn’t “Yeah, that time you saved all of Egypt from famine!” No. He would say “You always trusted me. You knew I had it all under control. Your faith, dear Joseph…your faith in Me is what I am most proud.” In fact, Joseph’s faith earned him a spot in the ultimate Hall of Fame: Hebrews Chapter 11 “The Giants of Faith.”

I hope that no matter what 2021 brings, mistakes I will make, dumb things I might do, regrettable words I might say, countless times I might whine, and circumstances I have no control over, that one thing will remain constant: FAITH. How is that possible, you ask? And what does any of this have to do with running? Absolutely nothing and everything.

“We are surrounded by a great cloud of people whose lives tell us what faith means. So let us run the race that is before us and never give up. We should remove from our lives anything that would get in the way and the sin that so easily holds us back. Let us look only to Jesus, the One who began our faith and who makes it perfect.” Hebrews 12:1-2 NCV

Friends, whether your 2021 plan is to be a better parent, co-worker, or business person, or to run your first marathon, or to simply establish more consistent fitness habits, the goal is the same:

Stay focused on Jesus!

Like Joseph, may we experience the Lord’s favor and may it be evident to all that the Lord is with us in all that we do. In this way, we will be stretching and strengthening those faith muscles as we together run with giants.

“Mary, did you know that your baby boy
Would one day walk on water?
Mary, did you know that your baby boy
Would save our sons and daughters?
Did you know that your baby boy
Has come to make you new?”

As this first verse rang through my ear buds during a run last week, I suddenly realized the song was about me. Saved and made new. Sometimes I take for granted just how miraculous that is until Christmas and Easter poignantly remind me. As I ran, I thought about if this song were actually written with me in mind. “Mary, did you know that your baby boy would help Irene run a marathon? Mary, did you know that your baby boy would heal her plantar fasciitis? Mary, did you know that your baby boy would move her to Indiana? Mary, did you know that your baby boy would be the reason she started blogging?” All miracles.

Then as the next verse played, it brought to mind the times Jesus opened my eyes to see dire circumstances and hopeless situations with new perspective. The storms in my life that He calmed.

“Mary, did you know that your baby boy
Would give sight to a blind man?
Mary, did you know that your baby boy
Would calm the storm with his hand?”

If you’ve been following my blogposts (thank you!), you know that I’ve spent a lot of my runs listening to worship music and talking to Jesus which has often led to ugly crying. A good reason to wear sunglasses even on a cloudy day. On this day, my newest Christmas playlist was blasting old faves and new renditions of classics like “Mary, Did You Know” by Danny Gokey. So there I was on mile 2 of a 12 miler, overcome with all the emotions that accompany experiencing firsthand a miraculous work of God like calming a storm. Or like the time the pediatric cardiologist told us the hole in Natalie’s three week old heart would close on its own, that surgery was not needed, and that she would not be limited in any activities. Just as miraculous was Meagan sleeping through the night at three months when it took Natalie three years. Or the time we were three days away from foreclosure on our house then received the amazing news that our settlement had been approved at an affordable new monthly payment. Thank goodness that jeweler I secretly went to would not buy my wedding ring even after me pleading with him that I needed the money to pay our mortgage. All miracles.

Two nights ago, the skies declared the glory of God’s handiwork with the appearance of the great conjunction between Jupiter and Saturn aka Christmas Star which hasn’t happened for about 800 years and won’t happen again until 2080. A friend said that’s when she’ll see it from the other side. Unless I live to be 114, that’ll be how I get to see it again, too.

“Mary, did you know that your baby boy
Is Lord of all creation?”

With one week left, folks are more than ready to say goodbye to 2020 with anticipation and hope for the new year. I can’t help but reflect on how this year started. The hopes and dreams I had for 2020… A stronger body. A new marathon PR. Putting my run coach certification to good use. Getting my mom more engaged in memory care weekly activities. Teaching classes at her senior community. Training middle school leadership again at my church VBS. Going to Meagan’s UC Berkeley commencement at Memorial Stadium with those giant photo heads made so she could see us from the field. Purging/donating an entire storage unit plus garage full of furniture and 30 years of miscellaneous items. And of course, all the races. My 12th SF Marathon. All the traditional mother-daughter half marathons with Nat. Another trip up and down Mt. Diablo, Double DipSea, Rocky Ridge. Old faves like Dirty Dozen, Wildcat, and New Year’s Eve at Lake Chabot. Oh yeah, Chicago Marathon and CIM.

None of that happened.

Like Jupiter and Saturn aligning, it would seem that everything aligned in 2020 for this middle-aged momma to sink deep into depression. Finding purpose in each day, feeling useful, hearing the call, reaching out to friends, lacing up the running shoes, opening up the laptop to blog… motivation hit an all time low.

We hadn’t planned on moving to Indiana in 2020. Maybe next year. Or the next. We knew eventually we would as God had opened up so many business opportunities here. Very grateful as it helped put our kids through college. Dave was flying back and forth so frequently the last two years that he’d earned me a free companion pass and enough points to never have to pay for a flight ever again. You know what? The jet set life is about as glamorous as owning three restaurants during a pandemic.

We hadn’t planned on a lot of things happening in 2020.

Rewind for a moment to 2019… We hadn’t planned on the massive remodeling delays on my parents’ house which we needed to sell in order to offset mom’s health care costs. Guess what? The extremely frustrating and costly delays pushed the home sale to February 2020 which ended up yielding multiple offers and a phenomenal selling price we never thought we’d get a year ago. The timing for us marketing and closing on the home was also up there with alignment of planets. We closed escrow the week before the first shelter in place mandate hit early March.

That’s a good closing story. A not-so-good closing was one of our restaurants in March. As this location serviced weekday lunches at several major corporate campuses, a huge chunk of revenue was suddenly cutoff when they all switched to remote work from home status. But along with the not-so-good, one of our other restaurants has managed to not only survive but THRIVE and has surpassed sales of previous years. I guess owning a superfood cafe in a health conscious community during a pandemic has its benefits. Shameless plug – try our Immunity Bowl!

You know what else I hadn’t planned on EVER much less in 2020? Getting another dog. If you’ve ever had to say goodbye to a furry family member, you know the pain. We found out in March that our 13 year old beagle Oski had cancerous tumors and about 4-6 weeks to live. Oski was 8 year old Meagan’s answer to prayer in third grade and BFF for the next 13 years. She had wanted to take graduation photos on campus in May with Oski as he was named after Cal’s famed bear mascot. He started showing Meagan signs the last week of March that it was time to say goodbye. I think it was harder for me to watch her go through the agony of letting Oski go than actually watching him slip away peacefully on April 1st. Funny cuz that was also his gotcha day.

I almost cancelled my non-refundable puppy reservation as I contemplated the agony of having to say goodbye to another doggo when the time would eventually rear its ugly head again. Fifty three trips around the sun and two devastating deaths during this last trip. I’m just not the same after my dad’s passing in October 2019. However, it has occurred to me many times this year that once again God’s timing is miraculously perfect, gracious, merciful, and compassionate. Up until last October, I had thought dad had at least another year. Or I had hoped several more. Maybe even see one granddaughter get married. But had God granted my wishes, 2020 would have been an even more heart breaking season to let him go. We would not have been at his bedside. Church friends would not have been able to sing his favorite hymns in the beautiful private room we were given. I would not have had my alone time with dad to say what I wanted to say in person and, of course, to say see you on the other side.

As you all know by now, I did get my puppy this summer. That was also miraculous timing since I had put my deposit down right before the height of quarantine hit when puppies, toilet paper, and hand sanitizer became hot commodities. If it’s not abundantly clear through my hundreds of puppy posts, getting Miles was a huge blessing. Moving out of state and quarantine make for horrible company, but having a new companion and reason to get up in the morning definitely eased some of those daily emotional struggles.

I’m not at all a numbers person, but if 2020 were a spreadsheet, I think we would see a net gain. Lots of positive lessons learned and new experiences gained. Dave and I gained a new appreciation for cooking at home which has saved a load of dough. Speaking of dough, I learned how to bake a pretty good loaf of crusty French bread this year. I also gained new running friends as I joined an awesome local group – Carmel Runners Club. I’ve learned to enjoy running with friends again as well as cherish runs alone. I’ve learned after running in sweltering heat and humidity as well as single digit temps to appreciate “ideal running weather” more. After our first snow of the season last week, I learned snow shoveling tips from my neighbor. Other things I learned? I learned I shouldn’t try to cut my dog’s hair. But guess what? I did learn how to cut my own hair! I hadn’t seen my regular stylist back in Pleasanton since Covid, but now I may never need to again. Shhh, don’t tell her I said that. Perhaps the biggest impact on our spreadsheet came during the summer when both of our daughters got engaged! We gained not one but TWO sons-in-law this summer! I already consider Zach and Nathan family, so I’ve been naturally just calling them sons-in-law. A double wedding, though – how about that for a great conjunction! Ha, ha.

2020. One week left. What will stand out the most years from now?

I just now quickly flipped back to my last year’s December 31st blogpost. The first line says “I’m having a hard time letting go of 2019.” Oh my goodness…the stuff I wrote a year ago…the cries of my heart. Would you believe God answered them all in 2020?! I ended last year saying “Lots of unknowns in 2020…It’s all about perspective and knowing the things that are possible through Jesus are the most worthwhile.”

So much and nothing at all has changed this year.

“Mary, did you know that your baby boy
Would one day rule the nations?
Did you know that your baby boy
Is heaven’s perfect Lamb?
That sleeping child you’re
Holding is the great, I Am”

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, friends. See you on the other side of 2020.

It was actually morning. When I got out of the shower, there she was in the kitchen staring up at me with those big puppy eyes looking up from a hole in the wall she’d just chewed through. I’ve seen that look before. Like when two year old Natalie spilled an entire In-N-Out strawberry shake on Dave’s office conference table. Or when four year old Meagan opened a shaken can of soda in Dave’s car.

My third child is now a toddler. Today she’s seven months old so about three in dog years. What would even possess a dog to think a wall would be tasty? It’s paint and sheet rock. Then again, I caught Natalie gnawing on our window sill when she was three. I do feed my children, really I do. In my defense, I thought Miles was done with teething since she’d lost all her baby teeth. All I can say is good thing I caught her when I did or she might’ve chewed all the way down to the stud. Pretty sure our home warranty won’t cover that.

So off we went to fetch spackle at Lowe’s but first some extra strong drive-thru coffee for moi. Miles enjoys Lowe’s and Home Depot. Probably since she’s actually allowed in those stores and employees love to say hi. Our last trip was a few months ago to buy plants. She rode proudly on the flatbed cart as I loaded up on shrubs and soil.

The last time I bought major home improvement supplies was over a decade ago when I thought I’d fill in two holes – 5′ x 4′ specifically. Yes, feet, not inches. Okay, they were actually decorative openings in a two-story wall meant to provide an open concept feel between the formal living room and family room. A very nice aesthetic feature especially since you could see directly through to the backyard when you entered the house. However, two giant holes in a massive wall are not great for sound insulation or maximum surround sound effect which is kind of a big deal to husbands who like to blast the sound for football games and spy movies. Guess what I endeavored to do as Dave would be away on a three day business trip? Fill in those two holes! I mean, how hard can it be? Home Depot will even custom cut wood and sheet rock for you! So while the kids were at school and Dave was away, I set out on a DIY project that would be the best coming home surprise ever!

Without YouTube videos or googling, I measured precisely and managed to install two very sturdy mini-walls. In fact, if there was ever a major earthquake (being in California and all), the safest place to shelter would be next to these two walls I’d built. It wasn’t that hard and only took an afternoon. Next day I headed back to Home Depot for wall texturing supplies. Hmm, lots of very different options. I decided I should consult with an expert in that department. In retrospect, I should’ve clued in when the employee they sent me said it was his first week on the job as we both took turns reading the directions on the buckets of wall texture. Still oozing pride from the stellar job I had done the previous day, I went with the spray on cans of wall texture completely expecting to knock this one out in an afternoon then finish up with paint the following day in time for Dave’s arrival. PSA: don’t buy spray on wall texture.

I’ll spare you the gruesome details, but basically five more trips to Home Depot, countless buckets of wall texture, and loss of all patience and sanity later, the two 5′ x 4′ openings were filled. That’s about the only way to describe the finished product because it was not pretty by any stretch of the imagination. The look on Dave’s face further confirmed this. To his credit, he was very sympathetic and appreciative of my attempt. Being in the home building biz, the next day he carefully, gently, tactfully asked if he could bring in his guys to “smooth out the rough spots.” Umm, I think you mean “fix it” to which I promptly replied with great relief “YES!”

I can laugh about it now, but when Dave’s texture and paint guy arrived for the initial estimate, he took one look and said “Wow, this is baaaaad!” Dave had not told him I did it all by myself.

Okay, so the hole in the wall from this morning wasn’t as bad as that experience. In fact, it put things in perspective. You could even say it filled in some holes for how I’d been feeling lately.

This morning’s trip to Lowe’s was my first time inside a store in awhile. Been doing mostly online ordering and curbside pick up lately. The minute we stepped inside Lowe’s, we were greeted by some very friendly employees. As I made my way to the spackle aisle, not only was I grateful this visit did not involve gallons of wall texture, but also that I got to briefly talk to other human beings. Live. In person. Masks on, of course.

I’m constantly amazed and amused by the attention Miles attracts. Puppies in general are people magnets as are babies – neither of which I’ve had in a very long time. In many ways, getting Miles this summer filled some holes during this season of my life. We had made the emotionally difficult decision to move to Indiana earlier this year. Sheltering in place and moving away from family and friends in NorCal make for some lonely days. Miles has been an answer to prayer – even ones I didn’t know I was praying. Of course, God knew.

You learn a lot about yourself through a puppy. You also need to establish new personal disciplines. A puppy “forces” new habits like waking up earlier, walks every day, and stopping to chat with strangers who want to pet your doggo. Don’t get me wrong – I wasn’t unfriendly or reclusive before we got Miles. But I don’t think I’m the only one these days who can go days and sometimes weeks without seeing another human (other than Dave). And then when you actually run into someone, you realize how nice live interaction is or how you took it for granted before. So it was kinda fun to have a little crowd gather around Miles in between aisles 7 and 8 at Lowe’s this morning. The interior design consultant came over and asked to pet Miles. They hit it off right away. She said she needed this as she was having a rough morning. I didn’t want to put her on the spot and ask why but quietly prayed for her as we left the store.

I realized on the drive home that I really missed this. Running into people. Hearing about their stuff. Listening to the ups and downs. Asking if I could pray for them. You can’t get that from online ordering. I few times I actually tried to start up conversation with the online chat help box folks (Geico, Chewy, Wayfair). FYI, they’re trained to stick to the script.

Ironically, it’s become too easy to sit back and NOT do the very things we were created to do: worship God and fellowship with one another. Honestly, the motivation’s just not there for a lot of things (yes, even running). I wasn’t going to put up our Christmas tree – the giant ten foot tree we’ve had since the girls were toddlers that I hauled out here in my mini Cooper from California. Honestly, I would not have put it up except that Natalie, Meagan, and their fiances were coming out here for Thanksgiving week. You know what? Of the five other houses this tree has been in, it looks the best in this house. This same light up star topper we’ve had for over twenty years has served as my daily reminder to look up in an attitude of worship and praise to Jesus, the light that shines brightest in the darkest of times. I also wasn’t going to do any exterior lights or festive decor but was inspired to do so by my neighbors and one particular Facebook friend’s post as she recently had a difficult post-cancer surgery:

“Update on my surgery: Everything went great on the 16th and I was able to come home the same night. My wonderful friend came and helped me recover as it was a tough one. SO many bandages and drains to care for, Unfortunately, my body developed Pyoderma again and the recovery turned for the worst. We are beyond blessed that we have an amazing Dr. that stayed on top of things,daily, through texts and office visits…no hospital stay….we are so lucky to have an AMAZING Dr. that I consider a friend, an amazing support system, and a husband that has taught me that love is action……not words. He even ordered food from Heavenly Ham and we managed to have Thanksgiving. I’m getting stronger and I am ready for 2021 to be a healthy year for EVERYONE! Love to you all and now TURN on those CHRISTMAS LIGHTS!!!”

How easily I forget. How quickly convictions become lukewarm. It was less than a month ago I blogged about GRATITUDE.

Today I am grateful for the hole in my wall gifted by my seven month old puppy who in reality is the sweetest, funniest, cuddliest, fluffiest, and up until this morning, most obedient and non-destructive. Now about that hole, don’t tell Dave. Maybe he won’t notice.

BTW, “O Holy Night” is one of my favorite Christmas songs. I almost forgot that three years ago, I wrote a blogpost titled: “A Thrill of Hope” based on one line of the song that captivated me. Wow, that was Chapter 44, thirty-three chapters ago. Life is so vastly different now. Today, I looked up the original lyrics. Wow, never heard the second and third choruses before. And those verses seem to have been written for such a time as now. This year, I think I’ll make this song my prayer… my Christmas wish list, if you will.

O holy night, the stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth;
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
‘Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn;

Chorus
Fall on your knees, Oh hear the angel voices!
O night divine! O night when Christ was born.
O night, O holy night, O night divine.

Led by the light of Faith serenely beaming;
With glowing hearts by his cradle we stand:
So, led by light of a star sweetly gleaming,
Here come the wise men from Orient land,
The King of Kings lay thus in lowly manger,
In all our trials born to be our friend;

Chorus
He knows our need, To our weakness no stranger!
Behold your King! Before Him lowly bend!
Behold your King! your King! before him bend!

Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is Love and His gospel is Peace;
Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother,
And in his name all oppression shall cease,
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful Chorus raise we;
Let all within us praise his Holy name!

Chorus
Christ is the Lord, then ever! ever praise we!
His pow’r and glory, evermore proclaim!
His pow’r and glory, evermore proclaim!

Dave gave me side eye when we heard that gratitude reduces inflammation during last week’s church message “Anxious for Nothing.”

I’ve been known to preach the benefits of ginger for reducing inflammation. Ad nauseum, perhaps. Ginger everything, in any form. Raw, sauteed, blended, juiced, pickled. Throw in some ginger kombucha daily for good measure. I’ve been slightly obsessed with all the ways I can pack more ginger in my day ever since achy joints and a knee x-ray confirmed mild arthritis. “Mild” – okay, that’s good. Of course, my first question for my doc was (you guessed it) “Can I still run?” Not only was the answer “yes,” but running can actually help reduce arthritis symptoms such as inflammation! Okay, so maybe not as fast and furious as I used to run, but I will definitely take a slow run over none any day.

Much like when I first caught the running bug twelve years ago, I have passionately attempted to get family members on board the running, and more recently, the ginger train. Responses ranged from polite no thank you’s to utter disgust. I probably had it coming given all my previous attempts with beet and kale indoctrination.

So when Pastor Steve presented the case for gratitude as a proven means to reduce inflammation, I rejoiced in my long awaited vindication. He went on to say “Studies show increased daily doses of intentional gratitude have led to decreases in inflammation.” You had me at “studies show.”

But hold on… intentional gratitude. Intentional? As opposed to UNintentional?

When I taught elementary school, I found that sometimes the best way to get a point across or understand a word was to think about its opposite. The opposite of intentional is accidental or without purpose. To express gratitude without purpose…hmmm, when you put it that way.

What is the purpose for expressing gratitude? Other than reducing the inflamed joints of a middle aged runner.

Thanksgiving is around the corner. I’ve definitely been guilty of trying to manufacture or even force gratitude at the dinner table before scooping mounds of stuffing and sweet potatoes on my plate. “Okay, let’s go around the table and everyone say one thing they’re grateful for.” Cue eye rolls from the teenagers. A few adults squirm a little, myself included even though this whole thing was my idea. Now I’m thinking “I better come up with something creative. Don’t just repeat what everyone else says.” Family and health were already taken. I honestly can’t remember what I ended up saying.

Last Thanksgiving is a bit of a blur. I know we had turkey and pumpkin pie with mom at her senior community. I don’t remember much else. Do the heart and mind purposely put up defenses to protect our emotions? There’s a lot about 2019 I’d like to forget. Last year was our first Thanksgiving without my dad. He fought – and I do mean fought in every way possible – his Parkinson’s diagnosis up until the very end last October. My last blog post was all about remembering as it was his one year heaven-versary. Focusing on God’s faithfulness and goodness through my dad. And expressing gratitude for it all in a very intentional, purposeful way. I ran a marathon.

No, you don’t have to run a marathon every time you want to show gratitude.

Every morning before my feet hit the floor, I’ve been making a conscious choice to say Psalm 118:24 “THIS IS THE DAY THAT THE LORD HAS MADE! I WILL REJOICE AND BE GLAD IN IT!” I actually started this practice months ago – long before last Sunday’s message – but I confess it might’ve become rote. Probably not unlike what many have felt during these months of shelter in place, the day to day started to feel mundanely haphazard, if that’s a thing. At times, little ripples to tsunami waves of depression and anxiety would hit. Guess what? I can’t even remember what caused some of them. It’s path of destruction was evident though. Once solidly grounded piers of confidence and deeply rooted joy now easily tossed about whenever more bad news hit or I simply gave in to feelings of dread. Dread of what? Nothing I can really put my finger on or name specifically. I suppose that’s part of the enemy’s strategy: Be purposely vague so you can’t find a way out – or motivation to do so.

I recently noticed some new spray paint markings on my regular running trail. Red spray paint from city maintenance crew to mark out areas of upcoming repair. These markings were box shaped with hash marks on each side. They reminded me of the movie Top Gun and the air combat scenes where Maverick had missile lock on his targets. That’s when you fire at your enemy to take them down otherwise you’re just aimlessly firing into the air. It hit me that this is how God wants us to use Scripture and prayer – specifically, intentionally, and most importantly, for His purposes. And yes, to take down the enemy.

What is the purpose for rejoicing every day and all the time? How can one rejoice in horrible news and devastating situations? Simple. You can’t. God never said we should. But He did say to rejoice IN HIM. What? How?

“Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.” Philippians 4:4-9 NIV

Put it into practice. Not just going through the motions to check it off a morning to do list. But specifically to combat the battles of the day, each and every day. Even on your best days, there will be battles. Maybe that’s what ultimately made them your best days. When I think about my best races, the most successful ones were fought in the heart and mind during the toughest segments – mile 20 of a marathon or on the trek up to an 8,349′ Summit. Funny how that verse says to “let your gentleness be evident to all.” To be able to respond to circumstances with gentleness first requires fierce combat. The kind that involves missiles of targeted gratitude in the heat of battle.

I can almost feel that inflammation subsiding as I shift my focus off day to day anxieties to solid, immovable truths. You know what? Turns out I am really thankful for family and health. I got a bit of good news last night – more on that in a future post. I’m also thankful I got to run a live race last weekend with actual people. Cancelled races (along with so many other cancelled events) have been a huge bummer to put it mildly. But they have made me more aware and grateful for all that goes into race production, running a business, and more importantly, grateful for the friendships and encouragement they have given me. Whoa, all this sudden gratitude… Who knows, I may find myself not needing to load up on ginger anymore. Don’t tell Dave.

I’ve been dreading this day. Exactly one year ago, my dad crossed his final finish line here on earth. Even writing those words gave me a lump in my throat, and I can feel my eyes start to well up.

I’ve surprised myself these last 364 days. I’m super sentimental, a photo addict, and borderline hoarder of trivial memorabilia. But this last year I have found it too painful to look at anything that reminded me of my dad. I was just tired of crying. Darn…now I’m crying.

Last October 13th would’ve been my second Chicago Marathon and #53. As the day approached, I knew it wasn’t gonna happen as it became painfully clear God was calling Dad home after a tumultuous battle with Parkinson’s. Darn you, stupid disease.

I had deferred my 2019 Chicago Marathon registration to this year. The race would’ve been last Sunday, but like most major races in 2020, it was cancelled with the option for virtual. I decided to run this solo marathon on Dad’s heaven-versary in his memory and to face head-on what I had been dreading all year.

Hydration vest packed for this self-supported 26.2 mile trek, I gave Dave a hug goodbye then totally lost it. Darn, I told myself I wasn’t gonna cry. Miles came running over as if to console me, but she probably smelled the power bar in my pocket.

Okay, enough already. Let’s get this done. I headed out on a crisp, cool gorgeous fall morning. Clear blue skies. Dad would’ve loved this. I spent the first few miles thanking God for all of Dad’s great qualities that have in so many ways gotten Dave and I to where we are today. I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude. More memories filled my heart for the first time in a long time. I might’ve allowed myself to get a little emotional. Reminded me of the countless times I ran and cried ugly tears praying for Dad to be healed. I started to pray the next dozen or so miles for family, friends, our businesses, our church, our community, and our nation. All of a sudden I was at the White River overlook near Broad Ripple where I would soon turn around and head back. Funny how time flies when you’re praying for others.

They say the marathon doesn’t really start until mile 20. No truer words have been spoken. Ohhhh, the times I’ve prayed the Lord would come at mile 20. Just kidding. Sort of. I had planned today’s race course with two stops – both at our restaurant on Main Street since it was about 6 miles from our house on this out and back route. So when I arrived the second time around, it was now mile 20. I put on my mask, went in to grab a bottle of ice cold water, and started craving pineapple. Good thing fresh pineapple is on our menu. As well as coconut water. Chugged them both and headed back out to conquer the hardest part of the marathon – miles 20 to 26.

It had warmed up quite a bit and the shaded Monon Trail with its glowing, spectacular fall colors was way behind me now. My mind returned to my dad. He never did anything less than 100%. He worked harder than anyone I’ve ever known without complaining. I am part of his living legacy now. I often think those same things about Jesus. The parallel between my earthly father and Heavenly Father hit me those last few miles. I would finish strong because that’s the example I’ve been given as a child of Gene Hsiao, and even more so, my Almighty Heavenly Father.

Soon (but never soon enough in a marathon), the finish line was in sight. I saw our house in the distance. Not a mirage, I was almost home. I hadn’t mapped it out precisely for a door to door 26.2, so I needed to do another very long loop around the neighborhood to get my Garmin to hit the most beautiful set of numbers ever.

Just to be safe, I let it roll over to 26.21 miles.

And just like that, marathon #54 is in the books. Would you believe I just now realized I’m turning 54 this month?

Thank you, family and friends, for the love and support you’ve shown me more than just these last 364 days. Some of you know the struggles and heartache my sister and I faced trying to get my parents the help and care they desperately needed but stubbornly refused the last few years. Mom is now living in a beautiful senior home. Dad is in the most perfect, beautiful eternal home – probably golfing and singing his favorite hymns all day.

As for me, I am ridiculously sore and happy.