Three Years Without You

My dearest love...

Three years ago today you departed this world for one infinitely better. Three years. It sounds and feels like an eternity. So much life has happened in these years without you, and with every fiber of my being I resent the relentless passage of time that tugs our life together further and further into the past. You gave me a lifetime of love in eight short years, and that's exactly what our story feels like - another lifetime. I look at my life now, at our sweet daughter who had only just entered the world when you left it, and wonder if you would even recognize me now. The transition from wife to single mother was almost seamless. With everything in me I long to make you proud, to honor your extraordinary life and carry on the work that you were only just beginning. Everything I do is for you, and always the nagging question...is it enough? Are you proud of me? Would you be happy with the life I am forced to choose for your girls?

You always encouraged me to write. You told me to stop spending so much time cooking and cleaning, and to write a blog instead. You were always the first one to read and "like" every single one of my posts. In the schizophrenia of shock and grief after losing you, I couldn't imagine ever publishing a single world into the cybersphere again - posting a thought that I might vehemently deny within days, or hours. But I had to write, because it was all I could think to do to honor you. I want the whole world to know you, Nate - to catch a glimpse of the best man I've ever known, and if the only way to do that is through my writing than I will never, ever stop trying to capture you in words.

I blogged regularly at first, letting my raw feelings spill over into virtual journal entries. The empathy and comments from strangers were cathartic somehow, reminding me that we were not alone - not forgotten. I witnessed your story capture those who never got to meet you in life. But somewhere along the way, I ran out of words. I let my blog go untouched for over 14 months. I knew that with every click on a new post, my readers would be hoping for some kind of assurance that the girls you had left behind were finding peace, moving forward, entering some kind of resolution. Public grieving after Year Two, well into Year Three, started to feel belabored, exhausted - and yet, I couldn't think of anything to say that didn't revolve around you, my love, and the hole you left in our lives. My grief became more and more private. No one else could possibly understand the void carved into my very soul at the absence of my husband, my soulmate, my best friend, my provider, my listening ear and strong shoulder and steady giver of the advice I needed so desperately.

And so, I simply fell silent. I became absorbed in the all-consuming task of parenting a newly minted two-year-old without going insane, started new friendships and deepened lifelong ones, resumed daily life with my family, made new traditions with your family, rented a big old farmhouse in the country - how you would adore this house! - and read hard books that forced me to grapple with issues of faith and my relationship with God. In the hubbub of the last year, it has been hard to silence the constant clamor - to find the solitude necessary in the present to relive the ever-receding past. The highlight of these past 14 months has been two pilgrimages to my personal Mecca: Prince Edward Island.

When I was 7 months pregnant with Elissa and you asked where I would go if I could go anywhere in the world, I interrupted you as the words "Prince Edward Island!" bubbled over in a gut reaction of ecstasy. Images of sun-kissed red cliffs rising above sapphire seas, rimmed by fields of rippling grass dotted with lighthouses and lupins had inspired my dreams since I was five years old and my mom first showed me the film Anne of Green Gables. And of course you, still courting me after four years of marriage and determined to make all my dreams come true, immediately planned a surprise trip and presented me with our "Adventure for Kindred Spirits" itinerary the day before we left! You whisked my heavily pregnant self through the Northeast and around the entire Island in just four days, leaving us both dizzy and in love with this secluded corner of paradise.

It was everything I'd ever dreamed of, and so much more. Last summer, when I thought I would crack under the strain of solo parenting and attempting to turn life right-side up again, I could think of only one reprieve - going back to the blue and white inn nestled at the back of Memory Lane, next to the famed Green Gables. I wrote to the inn owners and was immediately welcomed by a veritable flock of kindred spirits. It was the perfect balm for my shattered heart, and I spent June, July and August of 2016 on an island of grief, surrounded by a sea of tears that enveloped me the moment I ventured into the solitude that unlocked all the suppressed pain of the last two years. I felt you here with me, Nate, in a way that I never had before. You were with me along the stretches of lonely beach, biking on red dirt roads, washing dishes in our tiny cottage, wading through the fields of waving grass.

I buried myself in the journals I'd kept during our relationship, reliving a love story that was so riveting I couldn't put it down - though of course I knew the beautiful-turned-horrific end. Then, at the cries of our waking daughter, I surfaced to the brutal slap in the face of reality. Every day the shock, the disbelief, the gut-wrenching pain of your absence that literally left me writhing. I didn't know how to live, Nate. The numbness of that first year was a mercy compared to the agony of coming face-to-face with you gone, because how could I survive it? And yet, I was grateful for every tear, every sob wrenched from deep inside me - because, my love, you deserve all the tears in the world. I would cry an ocean of them for you; I would drown in their salt just to find you again.

If I could sum up last summer in a sentence it's this: longing for life to be over so our family could be together again. Your absence colored everything; the beauty surrounding me was tinged with the awful reality that I must explore our paradise alone. I could scarcely breathe through the suffocating loneliness.

This year, I spent the month of September back in Prince Edward Island. I purposefully got off social media so I could clear my head and immerse myself in the beauty of this present moment. And Nate - to tell you this feels much like a confession - I have realized just how far I've come in a year. I had to plumb the depths of my grief and despair, wring every ounce of anguish out of my severed soul before I could begin the slow crawl to the surface. To breathe, and live again. The revelations are slow in coming, and they take my breath away with all the force of a gut punch. One day, watching Elissa in her bath, I realize: I feel happy more days than I feel sad. Squealing down a steep hill on our bike, the wind whipping our faces, I realize: I'm excited about my future with my girl. It's going to be beautiful, albeit broken. It's going to be good. I'm trying to shake the guilt of finding joy and hope in a world without you, because Nate, I know that's what you want for us more than anything. A lifetime of grieving you feels appropriate, but frankly, you would hate me for it.

If you could tell me one thing on this day, the third anniversary of your death, it would be to LIVE. To make my mark in the world. To give Elissa the love and adventures and zest for life that she would have had with two parents. And Nate, more than anyone else I've ever encountered it was you who taught me how to live full, live well, live extraordinary. It was you who raced through life at breakneck speed, seeing and doing everything, and yet skidded to a halt at the perfect moment to just be. To inhale a beautiful sunset, letting the last rays of yet another unforgettable day wash over you. To stare at a rumbling ocean for hours, thinking deep thoughts that no one but God was privy to. To gather me up in your arms - baby belly and all - with no other intent than to drink in my nearness. You have taught me and shown me about life, and for the rest of mine I will strive to apply your lessons and teach them to our daughter.

At the end of our whirlwind babymoon three years ago you stood on the top of Cadillac Mountain in Acadia, breathless with excitement as we watched the sun set and I shivered beside you. Tonight Elissa and I will climb back to the top of Cadillac. We will watch the sun go down and imagine what it would be like to stand on that mountain with you, nestled on either side of the man who is the center of our world, warmed by the fever of your intoxication with life and its beauty. We adore you, Nate. Passionately, relentlessly, forever. You will always be our knight, our muse, the one who has gone before us to exemplify a life beautifully lived.

Cadillac Mountain, July 2014

The Most Generous Man in the World

I wrote a little story for my dad's birthday, and wanted to share it here so everyone can know how amazingly generous he is. Happy Birthday Dad, I love you!

Once upon a time there was a man with a wife and six children. They lived in a little house and were very happy. One day, the man decided to sell the little house and move to a big, beautiful house up the road. His children played games in the huge yard, slept in spacious bedrooms, and explored the comfortable neighborhood. They were even happier than they had been in the little house. The man worked very hard in the big house. He kept the lawn cut, the trees trimmed, and the pool sparkling. He threw massive parties for his children and their friends. Everyone loved the big house. Everyone loved the man's parties. 

But the man didn't stop there. He wanted his children to see the world, and so he would pile them into a big gray van that he had bought, brand new, and take them on spontaneous trips. They traveled up the coast to Canada. They traveled down the coast to Florida. The man bought his children things and memories. But that wasn't the most important thing. He gave them the gift of relationships, that couldn't be bought with money. He liked to have his children sit up front with him and talk. He spent time with each of the six children, listening to them, learning about their hopes and dreams. And when the man spoke to his children, it was with wisdom and understanding. He taught his children about God. He showed them how to love God and each other. The man raised six children who became best friends. 

When it was time for the man's oldest child, a daughter, to go to school, the man let her choose where she wanted to go. He took her to visit the school, and when she was accepted, he sat down and wrote a check for the first semester, and for each of the semesters after that. Sometimes the man ran into hard times financially. Often his children never even knew. He did everything he could to give them the best life possible. After the oldest daughter graduated from her expensive school, she planned an expensive wedding. And the man worked harder than ever before. He worked long, long hours all of the months before the wedding so that he could walk his daughter down the aisle in the setting of her dreams. 

Three years passed, and the man gave his second daughter a wedding just as exquisite as the first. He sent his third daughter to an expensive school. And he worked harder than ever to make it all possible, to make his children's dreams come true. At last, it seemed, life began to slow down for the man. The full nest began to empty as, one by one, his children set out to make their own way in the world. Then, terrible tragedy struck. The oldest daughter found herself alone in the world with her newborn baby girl. And the man once again made a home for her. He moved to the basement of his own house and gave his bedroom to his daughter. He found furniture and pretty things to make her smile. He bought her crepes and coffee and listened to her when she was confused. He loved her baby girl like his own. 

Every year brings the man closer to retirement age. Every year, the man works harder than ever. He brings his mother into his home. He drives to North Carolina, Kentucky, Alabama, and Canada to visit his children. The man does not stop working. He does not stop praying. He does not stop loving. He does not stop giving. He is the most generous man in the whole world. 

Overwhelmed

When Nathan and I lived in Houston the local Christian radio station (KSBJaaay!) provided constant background music in both of our cars. One new song by Big Daddy Weave, "Overwhelmed," was played more often than usual. I vividly remember making the trek downtown for a prenatal doctor's appointment right before Elissa was born, as "Overwhelmed" played for what seemed like the tenth time that day. The words brought me to tears as I visualized the glorious relief I would feel once our daughter had entered the world. In my imagination, the thrill of beholding her face to face after the agony of giving birth would feel very akin to dying and entering heaven. I knew that what happened in that delivery room would be a holy moment, that heaven would touch earth and I'd be compelled to worship.

"I delight myself in You, in the glory of Your presence

I'm overwhelmed, I'm overwhelmed by You..."

Elissa's birth was every bit as painful, glorious, and miraculous as I'd anticipated. Three weeks later, in a single instant that obliterated our euphoric new family life, Nathan was hit and killed by a drunk driver. I immediately went home to Maryland to be with our families, but a few weeks later found myself back in Texas for his memorial service. As I once again drove those familiar highways with KSBJ playing in the background, my grief seemed punctuated by the same refrain, over and over again: "I'm overwhelmed, I'm overwhelmed by You..." It seemed like every time I started the rental car "Overwhelmed" was playing on the radio. I knew it was no coincidence. In the midst of overwhelming feelings of pain, betrayal, and anger towards God for allowing this to happen, the lyrics nonetheless became my anthem:

"God I run into Your arms, unashamed because of mercy

I'm overwhelmed, I'm overwhelmed by You." 

My once-solid faith that I'd clung to for 26 years was in tatters, wrecked by the one thing I was sure would never happen: losing the one person I couldn't live without. Yet as I visualized Nate at home and free in the arms of his Creator I knew that the words of this song were an apt description of what he was experiencing, even as we who were left behind struggled to keep breathing, to make it through another day. I found a measure of comfort in my own devastation knowing that he was in the place he was made for, fulfilling his eternal destiny.

Fast-forward twenty months later. Elissa and I are spending the summer in Prince Edward Island, at an idyllic inn on Memory Lane (I kid you not). Nathan brought me to this same inn exactly two years ago as a surprise last hoorah before we became parents, both of us clueless as to what would befall us just months later. This place was meant to be a part of our story, and before I even realized the connotation of the road name I brought along a bag stuffed with the journals I'd kept during our years together. I've spent the last month poring over hundreds of handwritten pages, documenting the ups and downs from our days of first meeting and falling in love, to fights, passionate trysts, joy, laughter, heartache, and everything in between. And I've only made it to 2008!

I never imagined how painful a trip into the past could be. Though we had the best marriage possible this side of heaven, I've felt acute pangs of grief and guilt over so many things I should have done differently in our relationship. Ways I could have loved him, served him, cared for him...missed opportunities because I was too absorbed in my own selfishness.

Our early years of dating were particularly rocky. We grew up together in many ways, hours apart at different schools with very different pursuits, and though we longed to be together it was agonizingly unclear at times whether our paths were ultimately meant to converge or separate. Woven between the stories of conflict and confusion are my journaled prayers for Nate, reminding myself over and over again that he belonged to God and that God would fulfill His purposes for him, regardless of how our future together played out.

Today it hits me, reading once again the many ways that I'd failed Nate in spite of my best efforts, that he is now overwhelmed by a Love like he never imagined. Nathan struggled his whole life to believe that he mattered to others, that people really cared about him. It hurts more than I can express to admit that, even knowing this, there were so many times that I didn't do enough to convey my love for him. I love him more wholly and passionately than anyone can ever know, yet all the love in my heart fell woefully short of what he needed and deserved.

As I am devastated once again that I couldn't be a more perfect wife, I find my grief turning to thanksgiving. Impulsively I start to praise God for dazzling Nathan with all the love he was created to eternally behold. I thank Him for holding Nate in the palm of His hand, guarding him from countless unknown disasters until the moment that he was destined to enter heaven. In January of 2008 I wrote in my journal: God, please give me Your heart for Nate and use me to show him how special and wonderful he is and how much You love him...

It is overwhelming to me that God gave me this priceless treasure of a man for eight years, that I got to love him with everything I have and thus be a part of showing him God's love on earth. Yet the story was never meant to end with us. Tim Keller describes how Jesus embraced the cross, "knowing that no matter how dreadful, on the other side would lie the joy of being with us. We are his reward." This. This is overwhelming Love. And until I can hold Nate again I will rejoice that he is safe in the arms of his Father.

Nathan and I at Green Gables on July 4, 2014

Elissa and I on Memory Lane, June 2016

Reflecting on 2015

"I'm more than you dreamed, more than you understand
Your days and your times were destined for our dance
I catch all your tears, burn your name on My heart
Be still and trust My plan, I'm more than you think I am." 
- Danny Gokey

I mentioned in my last post that I've experienced the full range of human emotions in 2015, our first year without Nathan. There were big chunks of time when I didn't post, too crippled by grief and doubt to fully stand behind whatever words I could muster. But I was writing all along, and looking back over my journaling in 2015 I see themes and shifts that have helped me better understand my journey through loss.

2015 was a year of firsts without Nate: first New Year, his birthday, Valentine's Day, Easter, Mother's Day, Father's Day, anniversary (we would have been married five years in June '15), my birthday, Elissa's first birthday, and the first anniversary of the accident. The once-special days seemed to come in waves, pushing me back down into a sea of pain and broken dreams as soon as I started coming up for air. I am thankful now that I chose to embrace the holidays for all the joy and pain that they represented. I didn't even attempt to suck it up and march blindly forward. I spent Valentine's Day blinded by tears, surrounded by piles of love letters from Nate. On our anniversary I was in Houston, tracing our steps back to all the places where we'd lived, gone on dates, and eaten our favorite foods. On my birthday I took Elissa back to Strong Mansion, our wedding venue. October 5 found us in Destin, FL, one of Nathan's favorite beaches, with the people he loved most. Looking back I see a trend on these poignant days. I would begin the day overwhelmed by grief, barely able to breathe. The path through our memories seemed unbearable, but necessary. There was nothing else I could or wanted to do. And by the end of the day I was actually able to smile, and laugh, and be so thankful for my years with Nate and find genuine joy in the life I now live with my baby girl. That is a priceless gift, and I don't think I would have come to that place had I not chosen to throw myself headlong into the most painful aspects of my loss.

Valentine's Day 2015 - overwhelmed by all the love!

As Thanksgiving and Christmas '15 rolled around I noticed a marked difference from the previous year, when we were all still stunned by Nate's absence. In 2014 I wanted nothing to do with these holidays; I tried my hardest to avoid them. On Thanksgiving I spent the day driving to North Carolina, timing it so that I would miss all the feasting. On Christmas I locked myself away for most of the day and refused to give or receive gifts. It was the only way I could make it through what used to be my favorite holidays, but this year, with a busy toddler in tow, I baked traditional Thanksgiving dishes and ate and wrapped presents during Christmas movie marathons and even felt a spark of the old anticipation on Christmas morning. Seeing things through Elissa's eyes makes these days new again. Holidays will never be what they were with Nate, who literally made me giddy with joy more times than I can count. I had the best years of my life with him, but there is so much life still to live with Elissa. Every day I thank God for the hope and fresh perspective that she gives me.

Thanksgiving 2015

I read about a couple who lost their six children in a fiery car crash, and years later they attributed their faith in God to the way they'd seen Him carry them through each day since. That is exactly the way I feel fifteen months after Nate's accident. My faith has run the full gamut of questions, rage, and doubt, but the one constant thing is that Jesus has never let us go. Several months ago I journaled these words:

I've wanted to write inspiring posts about trust and faith but I barely know what those words mean anymore. My worldview has been upended; my beliefs are in tatters. It scares me to publicize my fear, anger and doubts. What happened to the steady Christian girl with unshakable faith?

The unthinkable happened. Try as I might I cannot roll over and play dead with God. I cannot blindly accept everything that happened as being "part of a plan" or "for a reason." Nate's accident is senseless and meaningless and so wrong. It should NEVER have happened. As long as I live there will never be any answers to explain it away. 

Was my former faith really so shallow that a catastrophic loss can destroy it? I've come to believe that God doesn't expect me to shut my mouth and play this hideous hand I've been dealt without an epic internal battle. I believe He's invited me to have it out with Him. He's big enough to handle my rage, my hurt, my doubts and my tears. He already knows all about it anyway, so it's both senseless and futile to try to bottle everything up inside. 

I don't want anyone to think for a minute that I'm stronger or braver than I really am. My faith is one long string of question marks and expletives, and I am relearning how to live in a world where nothing is guaranteed and the most beautiful things can suddenly become the most horrific. I once thought I knew God. Nothing could have prepared me for this side of Him. 

My former faith has been torn down and rebuilt on a foundation that includes the worst loss imaginable. Yes, God allowed it. And somehow, even now, He is still good. He is still God. And every day I am learning a little more about what that means. 

I believe that people suffering the aftermath of a catastrophic loss are given little glimpses of their loved one as an encouragement to pull through to the finish line. Around Elissa's birthday I had a vivid picture of Nathan that changed my perspective so much. Many well-meaning people had said things about Nate being "in a better place" and "at peace," and I took this to mean that he was so happy with Jesus that he wasn't even missing the ones he left behind.

While I do believe that heaven is infinitely better than earth, and that given the choice Nate would probably not want to come back, I firmly believe that he knows this is not the way things are meant to be. God has promised to redeem all evil for great good, but sickness and drunk drivers and serial killers and death were never part of His original plan. Death is horrific, nauseating, the antithesis of creation. All the perspective in the world doesn't make it okay. Jesus wept at Lazarus' tomb. He knew that He was about to raise him from the dead, but that didn't take the pain away. Nathan sees how all this will turn out, yet I believe he still grieves the untimely severance of our souls. We are separated by time and space, and the eternity in our hearts heaves against the separation.

Somehow the image I saw of Nathan cheering me on through tears at the life I am left to walk alone has filled me with hope and the will to press on. The end of Hebrews 11 talks about martyrs "of whom the world was not worthy" dying in faith before receiving what was promised. The very next verse, Hebrews 12:1, admonishes us to run our race with endurance, "since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses." To me, the image of a cloud of witnesses means that Nathan is still involved in my life on earth. Like Jesus, he sees what I am going through and he intercedes for me. Randy Alcorn suggests that there is a "present heaven" where saints go before the final creation of the New Earth: the longed-for paradise where there will be no more tears or sadness, because all will finally be well. In the present heaven, as depicted in Revelation, Christians who have died still watch the drama being played out on earth and pray for those they have left behind. It brings me comfort to imagine Nathan watching the way I raise Elissa, praying for us because he will always be part of our family.

I can't pretend that I've been through the dark valley of anger and doubt and made it through to the other side. I don't ever want to stay quiet until I've resolved things about God and the way the world works that will honestly probably never fully resolve, but I do want to end affirming what I still know to be true: that God loves us. He has a plan for us that isn't exempt from horrific pain, but that is guaranteed to use the worst circumstances for good. As it turns out, God's "good" is usually the opposite of what seems good to me. But He is the One in control, who sees the end from the beginning, and while this life was never promised to bring us happiness or ultimate satisfaction, awaiting His children is an eternity filled to overflowing with all the things our hearts most deeply long for.

My Sunshine.

Numbered Days

"You gave me a forever within the

numbered days, and I'm grateful."

- John Green

It was a balmy June evening, five years ago today. Great fans blew air-light dresses into puffs and plumes as a roomful of girls nibbled strawberries, put the finishing touches on our makeup and dabbed at the perspiration on our foreheads. I slipped into yards of ivory chiffon, fastened chandelier earrings, shed tears over the last letter from my fiancé-about-to-turn-husband. My breath caught as I peeped out an upstairs window and glimpsed him in his tux, taking pictures with his best guys. He was handsome, more than ever, and at long last about to be mine. Then came my bouquet, and hurried clicks of bridal portraits in the late-day sun, and train-gathering and the descent down creaky old stairs and out onto the expectant lawn. My favorite music played; my sisters and best friends sailed one by one down the aisle while Nathan's smile got bigger and bigger. My hand nestled in the crook of Dad's arm. My heart swelled with pent-up fulfillment so close I could taste it. The moment hung heavy with complete, thrilling silence...then the words, our words:

"So close to reaching, that famous happy end

Almost believing, this is not pretend

And now you're beside me, and look how far we've come

So far, we are...so close"

 

The melody soared, we rounded the corner, and suddenly the moment I had imagined countless times was overwhelmingly real. I was spellbound by the love in Nathan's gaze, at long last taking those final steps to close the distance before our lifelong union. The moment that felt at once like an eternity and a fraction of a second ended with the strains of the song I'd planned to surprise him, and - let's be honest - to jerk some tears out of those eyes brimming with love and joy. He took my hands in his, barely able to contain his excitement, and to my dismay I was the one who utterly dissolved into tears of sheer relief. This was it - the moment we'd awaited for four long years.

The subsequent hymn and pastor's message gave me time to collect myself. Nate wiped my tears and squeezed my hands and gazed at me so adoringly I had no idea how I'd make it through the whole ceremony. We'd written our vows to each other in a tiny leather notebook, and while I read mine he held my wrist and bit his lip with the most beautiful look of love and pride. I will never forget his eyes that day. His vows to me were simple, eloquent, and lived out every day of our marriage:

 

I, Nathan, take you, Jen, to be my lawfully wedded wife;

to love you unconditionally, to protect and provide for

you. I promise to be a strong spiritual leader and strive

to fulfill your dreams and desires. I will be your husband,

your best friend, your brother in Christ, and your

kindred spirit, always pointing you to Christ who has

mercifully sustained us thus far and will sustain us in the

future. By God's grace, I will love you as Christ loves the

Church. I will honor and cherish you, for better or for

worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, in

joy and in sorrow, in failure and in triumph. Now, in the

presence of our families and close friends, I give you my

life, all that I am and possess, from this moment forward

until God by death shall separate us.

 

 

When the pastor, at long last, pronounced us husband and wife, Nate kissed me for an unholy length of time and we booked it back down the aisle, accompanied by whistles and cheers. While the bridal party and guests milled around us we laughed and cried and held each other as tight as we could, lost in the exhilaration of finally - finally! - belonging to one another. I personally was miffed that there was still an entire reception to attend to. We'd gotten the most important part taken care of, and I was more than ready to get the heck out of there and start living the married dream.

That said, our reception was a party like none other. We barely got to eat a bite because of all the clinking glasses and ringing bells and kissing, and then there were dances to be danced and toasts to be given. I danced with my dad, he danced with his mom and then he spun me out on the floor to a rather overt song on the first country CD he ever gave me, all those years ago:

"I want to be the wind that fills your sails

And be the hand that lifts your veil

Be the moon that moves your tide

The sun coming up in your eyes

Be the wheels that never rust

And be the spark that lights you up

All that you've been dreaming of and more,

So much more,

I want to be your everything"

Our wedding was magical in every sense of the word. Every year on our anniversary we'd snuggle in bed and talk about our favorite memories from June 20, 2010. Five years later, I remember it like it was yesterday. The setting, music, food, laughter, dancing and fellowship were all better than I could have imagined. But what I will cherish until the day I die is the way Nate loved and rejoiced over me - exuberantly, unabashedly. His whole heart was in his eyes that day, for all our friends and family to witness. None of the "calm and collected groom" act going on - he was all in, for better or for worse, forever.

Our photographer, Kristen, perfectly captured my favorite moment of the evening:

"As a photographer who has been a part of hundreds of weddings I often get asked the question 'Do you have a favorite wedding?'  I always reply the same way: 'Favorite wedding what? Favorite wedding venue? Favorite couple? Favorite all-around wedding? Favorite wedding to photograph? Favorite wedding moment? [Etc.]'  Depending on what they respond with, I usually get to tell them a few top winners in the various 'wedding categories.'  And my favorite moment of any wedding, and the answer I always give to that question, happened at your wedding.

"During the reception when you both stood up to thank your friends and family, Nate was talking on the microphone and said 'Jen and I...' and while he did, he glanced over to you. I'll never forget how he completely stopped speaking and stared straight into your eyes. You two were so lost with each other, far away from us all. A few seconds later he laughed and said 'I'm so in love with you.'  It was the most sincere distraction I'd ever seen. I remember wanting to have 'that.'  I know there are many happy couples who really are compatible and good together. But you two had more. And I will always remember being able to stand witness to what you had. It was rare, and lives on. You had more in your eight years together than groups of people have in their lifetimes...your love was glowing, moved me, and will never die."

On June 20, 2010, Nathan and I vowed to love one another until God, by death, separated us. We knew our days together were numbered...but we expected them to run into the tens of thousands. Never could we have imagined that God would see fit to separate us less than five years after we embarked on the great adventure we'd spent our lives dreaming of. Four years and four months after Nate and I met, we were married. Four years and four months after we pledged our lives to one another, he went on ahead to wait for me on eternity's shore.

Nate, those eight years and eight months were the best days of my life.  Knowing now how our story on earth ends I would still choose you, over and over again, for eternity. You are so infinitely worth every painful memory, every tear I now shed alone. You gave me a forever in our numbered days. For the rest of my life I will love and long for you.

Mothering, Solo

For as long as I can remember, I've dreamed of being a mom. Growing up as the oldest of six kids, plus babysitting, nannying, teaching Sunday school and youth group and working as a children's librarian gave me more than ample practice. I graduated high school with lofty pre-motherhood dreams of being a famous journalist, and felt both flattered and deflated when my senior class voted me "Most Likely to Have Ten Kids" instead of "Best Writer" or "Most Likely to Succeed."

On a humid May evening in 2013 Nathan took me out to a fancy dinner and announced that he was ready to start a family. I'd been itching to have a baby almost from the day we got married, but wanted to wait until he felt the same way and came up with the idea on his own. In less than two months I found out I was pregnant with our first child, and spent our Alaskan cruise fatigued and nauseous but deliriously happy - I would have endured far worse for our precious baby.

I will never forget the day I walked into the pregnancy center, ecstatic to hear our little one's 12-week heartbeat for the first time, and exited in shock. There had been no heartbeat. Nate met me in the parking lot, and we held each other and cried. We buried our sweet Hope in the back garden of a tiny suburban house we'd rented with glowing dreams of parenthood - of pushing a stroller around the nearby lake and witnessing those first toddling footsteps on the tile floors.

In the aftermath of Hope's death, and the uncertainty of whether we'd ever be able to have children, I realized just how badly I wanted to be a mother. After being Nathan's wife, it was the most important vocation on earth to me. Nate and I grieved together, healed together and were overjoyed when in early January I discovered that I was pregnant again - less than three months after the miscarriage. It seemed too good to be true, and I battled intense fear for this little one's life throughout the early days of the pregnancy. One day in particular I was sure I was going to lose the baby. Heavy bleeding and cramping led to an emergency doctor's visit, and while I was wracked with terror Nate prayed and told me he was in faith that God was going to grant us this baby's life.

Our daughter was born in September and we named her Elissa - "promised of God." She is a daily reminder to me of heard and answered prayers even when everything in my life has been torn apart. I don't even want to imagine what life would be like without her; she is a living, breathing, tangible reminder of Nate and will embody his legacy every day of her life.

Today is my first official Mother's Day, and I find myself on this parenting venture alone. Single parenthood is something my wildest dreams could not have conceived of. I see the plethora of parents - mom and dad, together - at church, at the park, at restaurants, at the mall. Dads tossing their little ones high in the air, pushing them in strollers, tickling them till they shriek with giggles. Thankfully I have a multitude of family close by who help out in invaluable ways. Yet I am the one struggling to open the stroller and juggle all our gear and keep Elissa fed and clean and entertained - day in and day out, alone.

There are so many days where I am overwhelmed at the thought of a lifetime raising our sweet Elissa without the talents and gifts of her daddy, the best man I've ever known. My heart breaks at the thought of all she is missing out on in his absence. I worry that I can't be both parents to her, that she will grow up lacking what only he could provide. In these moments of worry and self-doubt, it comforts me to remember how much Nathan believed in me and in what I would have to offer as a mother. On the day he asked me to marry him he wrote me a letter about all the reasons he wanted me as his wife. He said that one of the first things he noticed about me was that I would be a great mom. His complete confidence in me, and the memory of our many conversations about parenting, enable me to keep going when I feel so grossly inadequate. God called me to this journey of single mothering, and He will give me the tools I need. It blows my mind to think that every day of my life has been in preparation for this overwhelming job assignment. Not a day goes by when I don't desperately miss the daddy that Elissa will never know this side of heaven, but I am thankful that her heavenly Father holds both of us in the palm of His hand and will never let us go.

One year ago on a five-mile hike in Big Bend, 24 weeks pregnant with Elissa

Mother's Day 2015, carrying Elissa ALL the way up and down Weverton Cliffs :)

Life Eternal

This Easter, the day that Christians everywhere celebrated with rejoicing and singing, also marked six months since I became a widow. It is staggering to celebrate a day which marks Christ's resurrection from a grave, and Nathan's descent into one. How has it already been six months since I heard Nate's voice, made his last supper, hugged and kissed him goodbye for the last time?

God has been merciful to me this past week. Instead of the crushing despair that I imagined, I have felt a growing sense of victory. Christ rose from the grave victorious over sin and over eternal death. In His ultimate victory, Nathan has also found victory. He has confronted our biggest enemy, Death, and won. He has prevailed over sin once and for all, and is now living the Great Adventure that will continue for all eternity.

I used to fantasize constantly about Nathan coming back. I half expected him to; it was too incomprehensible that I would never see him again until I join him in heaven. Now, although I long for Nate with everything I am, I'm convinced that, given the choice, he wouldn't even want to come back. Heaven is that wonderful and his perspective has changed so much that I believe it will feel like the blink of an eye to him before we're all together again, never to be apart.

I want to share two things that have filled me with hope over this past week in particular. The first is a rare foretaste that I had of Nate in paradise. In May 2014 we spent a week in Turks & Caicos, and it was the stuff his dreams were made of. He basked in the shimmering turquoise ocean and endless stretches of white beach, completely fulfilled and at peace. He never wanted to leave. Jordan and Christene were with us and sometimes the three of us would go off exploring or shopping. Nate refused to leave the beach. Once we came back and couldn't find him until I spotted a tiny speck floating all alone in the vast blueness. I remember thinking that Nate was as close to heaven as anyone could be in this life.

I am so grateful for these memories because they are a glimpse of what Nate is now experiencing. His dreams have come true, his deepest longings are fulfilled, his goals are attained, his soul is forever satisfied. And yet I know he misses me. I got to Turks & Caicos a couple days after he did, and while he was waiting for me he sent me this picture with the caption: "I'm incomplete without you..."

In my mind's eye Nathan is exploring and rejoicing and delighting in Paradise, tingling with the anticipation of one day sharing it with me and Elissa and all of us who love and long for him more than ever.

The second thing I want to share is Nate's last text to me, sent six months ago today after he was released early from night shift. Before I knew that his soul was already home, I woke up to this message: "Praying for you! I can't wait to see you...going to get home early :)"

I still get chills at these last words from him. Little did he know that within moments he would be HOME, in the fullest sense of the word, earlier than any of us could have imagined. I know without a shadow of a doubt that he is praying for me. I know he can't wait to see me. And I can only imagine that famous smile, the last thing he left me, dazzling with all the radiance of heaven.

Valentine's Day

February 14, 2006. I was seventeen when the smartly dressed, country music-loving, Ivy League-hopeful, tanned Southern boy with eyes like the sea walked in my front door that Valentine's Day. We struck up a conversation, discovered we had most things in common, and though I was in denial for months I fell hard. When we weren't talking in person (at church, youth group, birthday parties and gatherings), on MySpace or instant messaging (these were the pre-Facebook days), we spent countless hours on the phone (he helped me study for my driver's license, played devil's advocate for my debate and senior thesis prep, quizzed me in Spanish, probed my political views and stretched my intellect every which way). I spent long spring afternoons and hot summer nights walking laps around my neighborhood, swatting mosquitoes, laying on the driveway and sitting in the bed of my dad's pickup truck while we discussed every topic we could think of to avoid getting off the phone. The day he told me I was his "best friend in Maryland," I did a happy dance in the middle of the street. Neither of us breathed a word of romantic interest until he'd officially told my dad he "liked" me at a Starbucks late on the sticky June night that I graduated high school. I had no idea how he felt about me that spring, but I was a goner - hook, line and sinker.

Valentine's Day, aside from its usual romantic connotations, was always such a special day for us - commemorating that February night in 2006 at youth group listening to our leader talk about what God-centered romance looks like, me sitting on the floor with my best friend and trying not to think about the handsome newcomer on the couch right behind me. Through our dating and married years Nathan always found a way to make each Valentine's better than the last. Some years we celebrated with our best Texas friends, Eric and Katrina, with much feasting, decorations and serenades from the guys. Other years Nate got all the small group guys involved and they whipped up a romantic feast for us girls. Two years ago I bought 14 small presents and left one out for him to find every day of the "14 Days of Love" leading up to Valentine's Day. Then, when the rain ruined my planned picnic, I lit hundreds of tea lights and we picnicked on the living room floor.

On our last Valentine's Day together Nate surprised me with a stay at the JW Marriott in downtown Houston and a romantic dinner cruise.  After a fancy dinner watching the sunset drift by, he tipped the live guitarist to play "Then" by Brad Paisley. He led me to the dance floor and we danced, all alone in a sea of dining couples, to the lyrics he'd had inscribed on the scrapbook he gave me when he proposed: "We'll look back someday/ On this moment that we're in/ And I'll look at you and say/ And I thought I loved you then." It was one of the sweetest moments of my life and I cried.
 

If anyone had told 17-year-old me on the night I met Nathan that he could be mine for eight years, and that on our ninth Valentine's Day I would be the one bringing him flowers, laying them on a snowy patch of ground under a makeshift cross and his name on a funeral home picket, I wouldn't have changed a thing. That amorous arrow stabs at my heart this year, and will every February 14 for the rest of my life, but underlying the pain is a lifetime's worth of memories and the sweetest love I'll ever know. I love you, Nate. You are my everything.

The Birth of Elissa Rose

Dear Elissa,

Today you turned four months old! Time with you has flown by so fast, and I can hardly remember life without you in it. You are the sunshine of my days and the sweetness of my nights. We've had a lot of milestones over this past month: you love to push up first your front, then your backside and I know you will put them together and crawl before too long. You can sit by yourself as long as you have something to hold on to, and you love holding your own toys to taste and examine. You are such a little lady and always have your hands folded properly. You have strong little legs and can stand without support as long as you have someone to balance you. You are very conversational, especially first thing in the morning and just before bedtime. Even when you don't feel good you are the happiest baby! You love experimenting with new sounds and trying to copy me when I talk and sing to you. Your favorite song is "The Birdies' Ball" and you always break out in a huge smile when I sing it, even if you're sad. You love to look at and talk to pictures of your daddy, and can pick him out of a crowd - you grab pictures of him and kiss his face even if there are others in the picture!

 

It's hard to believe that you're already one-third of the way through your first year of life, and I can think of no better gift than to share the story of how you entered the world. God was so kind to send you to us a week before your due date. You got to have nearly four priceless weeks with your daddy,
and the first week he took off work and spent almost every minute with you. He came to your doctor's appointment, rocked you and sang to you, changed and dressed you and helped feed you. He called you his "little girl" and his "princess," and when you were too tiny to fit in the clothes we had for you he picked out the cutest little newborn things. He loved to take you on walks around the lake, to church and out to eat, showing you off to everyone. I hope you grow up knowing just how much he treasured you, how fiercely he loved you. He was willing to sit through seven natural birthing classes with me, and was the best coach and support during the 18-hour labor! A week before your daddy went to be with Jesus he helped me write the story of your birth. I've kept it just like we wrote it because it's one of the last pieces I have of him.

**Reader Advisory: This account is somewhat graphic in parts, and not for the faint of heart**

                On Sunday, September 7, I went to church while Nate slept in to get ready for his night shift work which was starting that night. I came home with lots of energy and a long to-do list – we ironed and hung curtains, rearranged wall art, and organized the nursery. Nate left for work around 4 pm and I made a big pot of chicken soup, washed and folded a load of tiny baby clothes and crawled around on the floor taping down our entry rug. There was absolutely no sign of labor except for this mad nesting urge; looking back I’m so thankful I got those things done just in time! I went to bed early but had a hard time falling asleep without Nate. I woke up 2 hours later, shortly before midnight, feeling very strange. I had a tightness in my belly and really had to use the bathroom. I had never had contractions before but knew immediately what the tightening every 5 minutes was. I noticed that I was leaking fluid, so I texted Nate and my mom to let them know I was having contractions and might be in labor. My mom had somehow fallen asleep with her phone and called me right away. I didn’t really think I was in labor since I wasn’t due until the 14^th, and I expected the early stage of labor to last a long time with me doing most of the work at home. I told Mom that I was contracting every 5 minutes and leaking fluid, and she said I should call the hospital. The on-call doctor told me to come in, which I wasn’t excited about but called Nate anyway. I couldn’t reach him since he was in meetings, so I texted his co-worker and started getting some things ready for the hospital. Soon the contractions were intense enough that I knew we needed to go, so I called the main console and asked the operator to please get Nate for me. He was really excited and went into Nate’s meeting with a huge grin on his face. Nate was in shock when the operator handed him the phone! His first night of turnaround and suddenly he was racing home in the middle of the night to get me to the hospital. By the time he got home my contractions were 2-3 minutes apart and I had to stop what I was doing and focus on breathing through them. He started worrying that we wouldn’t make it to the hospital in time, so we threw everything in the car and got going. On the drive there my contractions were 2 minutes apart and lasting about a minute; at one point I almost threw up because of how intense they were.

                We got to the hospital about 2:30 and Nate dropped me off and went to park the car. I somehow made it to the 11^th floor with my suitcase and checked in while taking lots of breaks through contractions. The nurses got me to an exam room and admitted me when they saw I was already at 4-5 cm. I got excited thinking this wouldn’t take too long since I was already halfway there! I changed into a nightgown and they put in an IV port. Nate had to walk around and distract himself from the needle; he told me later this was the only point during the birth where he almost passed out :) I got in a wheelchair and they took us to a labor and delivery room. I had requested nurses who specialized in natural birth, and my nurse showed me some positions to try. I got on all fours in the bed for awhile, then sat on a birthing ball. She gave me some chicken broth to drink, but I panicked during an especially strong contraction and hopped up from the ball, which made me immediately throw up. I was really scared that I would throw up all through labor, so I focused on my breathing and relaxing as much as possible through each contraction. I walked around the room for awhile and would stop and lean over the counter for each contraction, trying to surrender to the pain and work with it instead of tensing up and resisting what my body was trying to do. Nate was super quiet up to this point and I finally asked him to please talk me through the breathing/relaxing process and encourage me. He was so supportive, just hadn’t known at first if I wanted to be coached or left alone to work :) He helped me get in the tub which helped for a little while but also slowed down labor, so soon I was back to walking laps around the room again. I walked countless circles around that room, which probably amounted to a few miles by the time it was all over! I lost track of time but noticed that the sun had come up and my nurses had changed shifts. The new nurse was optimistic that we would have a baby by lunch time, but when she checked me after 3 hours of active labor I was only at a 6. Three hours later I was barely a 7. There would be lots of really intense contractions, then they would stop almost completely and I’d fall asleep.

Mom had managed to change her flight in the middle of the night without paying any extra; our friend Eric picked her up at the airport and she got to the hospital around noon. I was lying in bed exhausted, hurting and discouraged because I’d been laboring hard since 2:30 am and was still only a 6-7. Mom immediately started comforting me and encouraging me along with Nate, and soon he took a 15-minute power nap since he’d been up all night. Mom read Scripture to me, prayed over me and encouraged me through each contraction. At this point I hadn’t eaten anything since some soup and bread around 3:30 pm the day before, and all I could have was sips of juice and water. I sucked on a few fruit snacks and somehow had enough energy to keep walking endless laps around the room. I remember being really confused because the contractions were awful, but I could still smile and joke between them. I told my doctor a story about a friend who pushed so hard that her baby shot out all at once and the nurses barely caught him by one leg. When she left the contractions got much worse than they had ever been. I stayed on my feet and tried to sink down into each one; I would grab onto Nate and beg God to help me and Nate would breathe with me and remind me to relax through each contraction.

 

 

                The nurse eventually checked me again (being checked was the worst because I’d be lying in bed helpless and she would check me with a contraction which was almost unbearable). She said I was a 9 but with a cervical lip – she tried to move it out of the way which was torturous but then said I still wasn’t ready to push quite yet. She recommended that I take Pitocin to make the contractions more effective, but I was adamant about no drugs and said I wanted to try for another half hour. She left and I think at that point I fell asleep – the contractions seemed to stall and I was so worn out and felt like this baby was never coming. The nurse came back half an hour later and was shocked that I’d been napping at a 9! She got the doctor, who strongly advised me to take Pitocin since the baby had been in the birth canal all day and my body wasn’t effectively getting her out. I finally agreed and they started me on a level 2, the lowest possible dose. I continued my laps around the room, pushing the IV cart and leaning on it for support with each contraction.  45 minutes later nothing was happening, so they increased the dose to 4. The contractions really started to get more intense then, but still weren’t as bad as the ones I’d had before the Pitocin, which confused me. I kept asking the nurse what an urge to push would feel like, but she just said I would know when I had to push. As soon as she left the room I felt that urge, just once, and my mom raced out to get the nurse. I sat on the bed ready to be checked again, and suddenly felt intense pressure down there. I knew the baby’s head was right at the opening! Nate had gone to get something to drink and was shocked when he came back and I was ready to push.

                The room suddenly filled with people; a bright light came down from the ceiling and my doctor appeared at the foot of the bed asking me what position I’d like to push in; she recommended lying on my side. Nate and Mom each held one leg and I started pushing for all I was worth. Everyone was so encouraging with every push, but soon I got incredibly tired of hearing that her head was coming out and going back in every time! Pushing was by far the worst part of labor for me; even though I only had to push for about an hour I was completely drained and just prayed that God’s strength would take over because I had none left. The contractions were much more sporadic at this point, but I would try to push 4-5 times with each one. It was the most intense thing I’ve ever done – almost 3 weeks later I still have a burst blood vessel in one eye!

 

                Finally I gave the hardest push yet and Nate, Mom and the doctor said she was coming out! As she crowned I had the worst “ring of fire” burning sensation and it was all I could do to listen when my doctor said to push slowly to get the rest of her out. It literally felt like I was ripping in half, but a split second later I heard a hearty wail and our wet, wriggling daughter was placed on my stomach for the first time. I’d been prepared for a grey, wrinkled alien-like baby but she was red and alert and absolutely perfect. I couldn’t get a good look at her right away because I had to be stitched up and cleaned and massaged, but Nate stayed right with her and raved about how beautiful she was. She was so awake and ready to meet us; she stared at Nate and held his finger and latched on the minute she was placed on my chest to nurse. She knew exactly what to do! We had been debating on what to name her from the day we found out we were having a girl, but when we met her we knew her name was Elissa Rose – Elissa means “promised of God” and that is exactly what she was, coming so soon after we had lost our first baby, Hope, which means “a confident expectation of good.” Rose is after my sister Christene, who was nicknamed Rose when she was little. Nate and I were both exhausted and running on no sleep and very little food, but we couldn’t stop staring at our sweet Elissa and marveling at how beautiful she was.

 

                

Elissa was born at 6:30 pm on Monday, September 8, weighed 7 lbs 1 oz, was 19 ¾ inches long and had an Apgar score of 9. We spent a couple days in the hospital where I worked with lactation consultants and nurses to learn all about caring for a newborn. She passed all her tests with flying colors and I healed remarkably well with no side effects, even though we learned after she was born that she had been “sunny side up” the whole labor and delivery, which no one knew till she came out! I did some research and learned that face-up babies often result in a much longer, often stalled labor and Pitocin is usually needed to stimulate stronger contractions. The c-section rate is much higher, and severe tearing during delivery is normal. I’m so thankful that I was able to have as much of a natural birth as I did, even with this complication. After Elissa was born my first thought was “I never want to do that again,” but since she was a first baby and sunny-side up I have good reason to hope that subsequent births will be easier :) I won’t lie and say that an epidural wasn’t far from my mind the whole labor, knowing that I could just say the word and the pain would go away – but I am so glad that I didn’t give in! Nate and I had rehearsed what to do in the event that I begged for an epidural (he was supposed to pep talk me about how I was in the worst of it and it would all be over soon), but thankfully neither of us even mentioned it the whole 18 ½ hours of active labor.  

 

 

In the end I can’t take any credit for the whole labor and delivery experience; my own strength was maxed out long before Elissa made her appearance and I know without a doubt that God carried me through the worst of it. We had Jared’s worship playlist on repeat for most of the labor, which gave me so much peace. Mom and Nate read Scripture to me, prayed for me and encouraged me when I felt like I couldn’t go on. They gave me invaluable physical, emotional and spiritual support; I know I never could have made it on my own. Our families and friends were praying for me and checking in for updates the entire time. My nurse, who was on shift for most of that day’s labor, was so kind and agreed with us many times in prayer. After the delivery she gave me a big hug and kiss and asked where we went to church; God was so kind to give me a fellow believer as support! My doctor stayed late to personally deliver me and was so consistent to check in all day and cheer for me; I’d had to switch doctors later in pregnancy and she was definitely an answer to prayer.

Elissa is now almost 3 weeks old; Mom left on Friday the 26^th and the transition has been harder than I thought, but thankfully we’ve gotten the hang of breastfeeding, she is gaining weight well and learning to sleep at night – she’ll usually give me 6-7 hours of good sleep which is amazing! Nate is working night shift for turnaround and only gets to see me and Elissa for a couple hours each day, but she adores her daddy and loves to look deep in his eyes while he talks to her – she also saves her special poop explosions for when he’s changing her diaper :) We are head over heels for our princess and so thankful to God for this amazing gift of a daughter!

Running the Race

Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.

Hebrews 12:1

After 4 months and nearly 200 miles of training, Nate and I ran our very first half marathon in Irving, TX. All the carefully patterned sleeping and eating routines, the gallons of water faithfully consumed, the worn shoes and sweat and injuries consummated in this one goal: to finish, and to do it in under two hours.

I am not one of those enviable runners who adore running and live to pound the pavement. Before this spring I'd only run an occasional three miles because I had to. I view running as a necessary discipline that must be endured to improve overall health, fitness and mental endurance. My secret weapon is books on tape which distract me from the misery I'm putting my body through. Multiple times during that race - specifically on miles 7, 9 and 11 - I asked myself again why on earth I was doing this. But I finished. I ran every step of the way, spurred on by Agatha Christie and cheering spectators with cowbells, and I placed second in my age group.

Nate and I held hands as we crossed the finish line, and celebrated in a steaming jacuzzi as our screaming knees and hip flexors called us every name known to man. We hobbled around Irving for the rest of the weekend, enjoying wonderful food and movies and museums and sunning ourselves in parks while trying not to look too much like 80-year-olds with arthritis.

We love Jefferson Street Bed & Breakfast!

Farm-to-table restaurant with incredible food

Venison chili and wildflower honey cornbread (elk tacos for an appetizer)

Yeah, I married him.

Fluffy hair and pale skin just needs to come back in style.

An original Norman Rockwell exhibit at the Boy Scout Museum. So good!

Love this man.

Then we came home and did the unthinkable. We registered for the Disney Marathon on January 12, 2014. Yes, we are out of our minds. Yes, in a moment of extravagant confidence I forgot every painful step of that 13.1 miles and convinced myself that I could do it twice. I hit the "register" button, and then dissolved into a puddle of quaking disbelief.

But today I laced up my running shoes and pounded it out again. We have 8 months, after all. And who knows? Maybe in that 8 months I'll learn to love running. Maybe my body will cross a threshold where I can crank out mile after mile without my joints dying a miserable death. And maybe we will have the time of our lives, flying through all 26.2 miles of those glorious Disney parks. In any case, whether we set a new record or have to stop every 20 minutes and take pictures with Mickey, it feels good to set a goal - a challenging, impossible goal - and make steady progress towards attaining it.

If there's one thing running regularly has taught me, it's a deeper appreciation for all of the Apostle Paul's exercise analogies:

"Run in such a way as to get the prize. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever." - 1 Cor. 9:24-25

"Train yourself for godliness, for while bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way." - 1 Tim. 4:7-8

"Run with endurance." - Hebrews 12:1

Comparing physical training with training in godliness has shown me that becoming like Christ doesn't just happen. Just as I could never set off one day to run a marathon on a whim, I can't hope to have Christlike words, thoughts and actions without applying myself to His Word and example. This race, reaping imperishable rewards, is so worth my entire life's devotion. May I run here, and wherever God places me, with endurance and with joy.