Watch me.

I ran a little bit before becoming a momma. A mile or two a couple of times a week, as many as 5 miles if I was seriously ticked off.  After Cricket was born I did the Couch to 5k program, but mostly found it to be annoying.

I'd been thinking for quite a while about starting again, and our new pup was just the partner I needed to get me going. I started with one mile runs with her, and one day decided to double it and see what happened. I was pleasantly surprised. It was easy. I was hooked. 

After another week or so of pondering, and trying to talk myself out of it, I decided to fess up to Snuggs. 

"Baby, I need to tell you something. I've had it on my mind for a while...like, a year. You're going to think I'm certifiably insane.... (Insert his encouragement to just 'out with it already') I am going to run a half marathon." 

And he said, "That's a really good goal." Which is Snuggs for "Ain't never gonna happen, but I don't wanna be a discourager." 

And just in case I needed an extra bit of motivation, he hit me where it counts. Tell me I can't. Go ahead, I dare ya! Buttercup's tenacity is undoubtedly inherited directly from her momma.  

I knew I could. I already had an incredible role model in Stacey. I knew it was possible, even enjoyable. I mean, she runs flipping MARATHONS. She's basically a celebrity! 

Stacey led some of my training when I started teaching for Head Start. Our friendship happened in my favorite way: no effort required. Not to say we haven't put in effort to maintain it, but it was cake to start it! She's enough like me that I knew I'd really like her in the first five minutes of meeting her. She's just enough ahead of me in child rearing to be able to assure me that the toddler crazies will pass. She loves Jesus. Plus, her husband is a firefighter. And, while you can find plenty of stupid blue vs red line crap if you look for it, to me it just meant that she understood what it means to pray for your husband's safety with all of your being, and everything else that goes along with loving a man dedicated to service...including that stuff about listening to the scanner and eating ice cream alone on Valentine's Day ;) 

Point being, I didn't even realize Stacey's running had been inspiring to me. She's not a bragger. It's her thing that she does for her, and that's hard as a mom, and so respectable. But she loves it, and it's good for her in more ways than one, and she always just keeps going.  Mostly, I thought she was cool mixed with a strong dose of insane...and then I decided to join her type of insanity. So, she was naturally the first person to whom I turned.

Three weeks in, I was setting up my stuff on a Thursday night to prepare for Friday morning's run. 

He said, "What's tomorrow look like?" 

And I started with, "I'm getting up at 6:30 and running 6 miles, and then..." 

And I stopped. That look on his face. That look that said, "You are perhaps the coolest person ever." And he said, "Baby, that's amazing. Good job."

And I felt like a million bucks! 

And then, the next morning, when I got home from my run, he admitted that he was doubtful at first, but that he had been wrong. He said he believed I could do it. He said he was impressed and proud. 

I'll tell you, I'm doing it for me, but having him on my team is an absolutely amazing feeling. 

6 miles still hurts, but 3 miles feels like cake, and that's amazing to me.  I have lots of work and many hours to log before I get my 13.1, but those hours are proving to be the cheapest form of therapy available. 

When I run, I get to be alone, and that's a treat for a mom of small kids. Don't get me wrong, I love them to the moon and back, but it's amazing to remember that my body actually is just that, MINE! When I run, I get time with God. Time to pray, time to listen, time to depend fully on Him when I can't go on, but He pulls me through.  I get to feel good about my body and my health.  I get to be amazed at myself for doing what I thought I couldn't. 

I LOVE when my body overcomes my mind. THAT is my favorite part of this kind of training versus Couch to 5k. It's not about avoiding pain by doing little by little. It's about knowing it's going to hurt and doing it anyway.  It's about actually hurting, hearing your brain tell you to stop, thinking you can't move another step, and then proving yourself wrong. There's something so liberating for me in telling my mind to f-off, and I'm positive this new skill will serve me well in other areas...(I miiiiight be an over thinker who needs to just stop.) 

It's about getting all whiny around mile 4, then remembering that I delivered a 9lb 4oz baby with no medication and that hurt WAY worse than running ever will, and finishing the 6 miles as planned. It's about knowing I can do hard things, and do them well. It's about not having the breath to talk, and somehow screaming out at the top of my lungs, hands raised high, "I lay me down. I'm not my own. I belong to You alone," and feeling that truth with every cell in my body.

And yes, part of it is about coming in the door red and drenched in sweat, and having the love of my life tell me that I'm amazing. That's sort of the icing on the cake! It's good to be loved! 

Don't Knock

I hate this post, but I have to do it. I've put it off for long enough. I just went back and made some updates to my introduction, and it became clear that I just need to bite the bullet and type it out. 

We are not adopting.  Not now, anyway. 

Turns out that the state doesn't actually care that Snuggs' tumor is benign.  We've been "invited to reapply" after a year with a clear diagnosis. Best case scenario we can get a "clear diagnosis" in February of 2015. Then, if we maintain that through February of 2016, we can start all over again.  That means that we could conceivably be eligible to receive a child sometime around January 2017. 

In January 2017, Cricket will be almost six, and Buttercup will be a new four.  They are currently 3 and a half and almost 2.  I have no idea what that will be like or what our family situation will look like at that point.  A lot can change in that kind of time, especially with young kids. 

We are not hearing this as a "no," but rather as a "wait." Although, we have agreed that we have no timeline in mind right now, and no idea what our process will look like when the time comes. 

What we know is this: 

God doesn't just "unset" a fire in your heart. We still ache daily for the adoption we were praying so heavily over.  We still have hearts wide open for "the baby God has for is that we don't know yet." 

It still hurts. Conversations about the adoption and the changes the tumor brought still cause tension, tears, and strife. 

As such, we've decided that the door isn't closed, but we just aren't going to knock on it until we feel called to do so, again. 

The only "explanation" I can come up with is that the entire process was an exercise in obedience. God said, "Hey you, love orphans. Go now, and do it." And we looked at each other with wide, terrified eyes, and we obeyed. People thought we were crazy for even considering adoption. Our wild Buttercup meant that I hadn't slept more than 3 hours in about a year when we "made the decision."  But, like I said, God doesn't "unset" a fire in the heart.  

I mean, if we are being real, the whole process started because I was trying to find a way to grow a love for the homeless in our community, and guide my husband to so the same.  I was going in ready to stir in the soup kitchen, and came out ready to file adoption paperwork. That's pretty crazy, really. But we felt called, and we obeyed. 

Also, in the name of full disclosure, let me tell you that I am working to resolve some serious bitterness in my heart about this whole mess. In a sentence, it is this: "He wears Kevlar every day because he could be shot at any given second, and they won't let us love a baby because he has a benign tumor." 

It makes me mad. It doesn't seem right, just, or good. I hate it. I hate a system that says that this health "problem" (which, for the record, his health has been vastly improved by finding and treating it) is spelled t.u.m.o.r. and that raises a red flag in a state system, and that red flag puts up a two year pause, and that two year pause means that some little one is not receiving the love that we were so ready to give.

And, in the name of full disclosure, "I'm working on it," means that I'm praying for God to soften my heart towards a mess of injustices, because a hard heart won't do anyone any good. 

That is all. Man, it sucks.