Be Inspired

As a language arts teacher I am constantly encouraging my students to look for inspiration in the world around them. Of course, my pubescent students generally respond to my enthusiastic encouragements with blank stares, but, nonetheless, I encourage them to be inspired.

So where does inspiration come from? As a lover of language and the arts, my immediate response is EVERYWHERE!

I remember

I will never forget 9-11-01.

My classmates & I began to wonder why the teachers left 40+ ornery 7th & 8th graders to themselves during the chapel hour. I was elected to head upstairs and find out what was going on. A quick glance into a few classrooms & the school office told me that I wouldn't find any of the teachers in their rooms. As I approached the choir room, I could hear the news running on the television. It was eerily quiet as one of the teachers said, "what do we tell our students?" As I peeked in the room I saw my administrator staring blankly at the large television on the rolling cart. My mother & one of the elementary teachers stood at his side. I was overwhelmed: what was going on? Why did the whole room feel so sombre? My mother & the others exited, nearly running me over. "Does Mr. Ahrens know the junior highers are by themselves downstairs?" Mom quicky filled me in as she & Mr. Ahrens escorted me downstairs.

America had been attacked.

I don't remember if they told us then or later. I do remember that the rest of the day was a blur.

I remember praying & watching the news. Each time the  planes hit & the Towers fell my stomach did flip-flops & my hear raced to my throat. I watched people run in terror as smoke filled the sky over & over agin. Never in my life have I been more terrified. Never in my life have I been more aware that God is in control and it is foolish to trust in the strength of man.

That night our church hosted a prayer vigil for those lost & missing. People from the community flooded the building--they saw the crosses rising above the interstate & came seeking answers & comfort. Strangers joined hands as people broke up in small groups to pray. We prayed for our nation; we prayed for our leaders; we prayed for the families; we prayed for the missing.

Today, I remember. 

Today, I remind.

Today, I pray that it doesn't take another act of terror to turn America's heart back to Christ.

His Eye Is on the Sparrow

Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God? 

But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. 

Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows.

Luke 12:6-7

Tonight we celebrated my grandmother's life. 

My family arrived at the church in the early afternoon to set up flowers & other memories for those who would come to the memorial service. The small chapel had 116 empty chairs neatly arranged anticipating the friends & loved ones expected to attend. I stood in awe as people poured in the doors of the church & greeted my father & his family. 

The once empty chairs were filled with people sharing stories about Grandma Gina. In her nearly 75 years of life, my grandmother impacted so many people for Christ! The small room was quickly packed to overflowing: chairs were pulled from neighboring rooms and set up as the aisles continued to shrink. The murmur of 200 voices filled the room with words of comfort & delightful memories. Of course, more than a few kindly old ladies hugged us grandchildren and pinched our cheeks.

Then, the service began.

As a Christian, I have always wondered how the unsaved are able to bear the loss of a loved one. What hope do they have of seeing their loved one again? Even if one does not believe in an afterlife what hope of peace is there?

Grandmas service was filled with peace and rejoicing--a conundrum, I'm sure to those who are not believers. People stood up one after another to give a testimony of how Christ was magnified through Grandma's life. I am not a crier (although I find that tears more readily appear in my eyes than they have in years past) but my eye filled with tears as person after person--young and old, male and female, family and friends--gave testimony. Grandma would have been honored to know that the testimony she left behind pointed others to the Person of Christ.

With shaking, sweaty hands, tears in my eyes, and a lump in my throat I stood up to play one last song for Grandma Gina. The selection was an easy one: "His Eye Is on the Sparrow".

What better way to honor Grandma Gina than to play a song on my flute that was a comfort to her: God was always watching & caring for her. Not only was she aware of God's presence in her life, but she was also a living testimony of Christ's love for depraved man.

I can no longer hear her voice humming & singing hymns as she reupholsters furniture in her garage, but time & time again those songs flood my mind & we sing a duet in my head. Why do we sing? The song says it all: I sing because I'm happy; I sing because I'm free! His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches me.

Why should I be discouraged and why should the shadows fall?
Why should my heart be lonely and long for heaven and home?
When Jesus is my portion, my constant Friend is He,
His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches me.

I sing because I'm happy;
I sing because I'm free;
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me.

Let not your heart be troubled; these tender words I hear;
And resting on his goodness I lose my doubts and fears;
For by the path He leadeth but one step I may see;
His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches me.

Whenever I am tempted; whenever clouds arise;
When songs give place to sighing; when hope within me dies;
I draw the closer to Him; from care He sets me free;
His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches me.


fun run

You know those people who run for fun? Don't you think they're crazy?

Honestly, how can anyone consider running fun? A frantically pumping heart, a dry mouth, burning lungs, & numb legs sound more like torture to me. As if running weren't torture enough, there are people who pay to run. They pay: "here's my money, can I run in a circle with you? I get a t-shirt?! Totally worth it!" NO.

For the past several years I have openly mocked my friends who run for fun. What weirdos! I chuckled as they groaned & rubbed sore muscles after a 5K. I laughed at their mud-caked bodies & sore muscles after the Warrior Dash. I winced & shook my head when they ran a half-marathon. Okay, so running is their thing, but it's definitely not mine.

Then, one day it happened: I agreed to run a 5K.

Insane, I know, but there I was 6 weeks out &, admittedly, completely unfit. So I did what any intelligent college graduate would do: I set up a schedule to start running. Of course, initially I planned to run the 1.5 mile trek through my neighborhood 3 days a week, but that was swiftly shaved down to 2 days a week. And only if the weather was good. Remember, I'm not a runner. I resolved that I was running to stay healthy & to get to know my friend better . . . the fact that sweets would be waiting at the finish line was also a fantastic motivation.

December 15, I ran my first 5K: the Candy Cane Course. I met my goal of finishing under 33 minutes (32:48 to be precise) & celebrated my milestone with milk & cookies.

And then, somehow, I kept running. Not uber consistently, but at least 1-2 times a week as long as there was good weather. In fact, I even began checking the weather so I could run.

I became what I had mocked for so long: a runner.

I still can't say that I love running. In fact, during the entirety (32:39) of our first 5K for this year (the Sweetheart Shuffle--she chose me over her boyfriend!), my friend & I groaned, "why do we do this again?" Our answer? Time together, the crazy costumes, & the sweets. We're planning on completing all 6 races in the "Holiday Fun Run" series this year. Of course, we're also trying to convince a few more friends to join us. I can't wait to have spend some quality time with my friend as we run for our sweets.

Who knows, maybe by the end of it all I'll realize, like all the other crazies, that running is fun.