Even though this blog is directed towards the ladies, men may benefit from it too. I know many men who also feel the pressure to possess a specific physique.
I want to get something straight here and be real before I go any further.
I do not promote any woman to be unhealthy and proclaim she's happy how she is in a body that is slowly killing her.
We were made to be confident not complacent.
Obesity is not okay.
Obesity is a slow death.
There is a difference between being a healthy curvy woman and a woman who is feeding herself into her own grave and claiming "curves are sexy."
Harsh? Maybe.
I see two things consistently:
1. Promotion of an unhealthy, underweight image.
2. Promotion of an unhealthy, overweight image.
Both are wrong.
Both are deadly.
Both could destroy you as a woman and strip your life of happiness.
Our society began to push the "stick thin" image on women for so long that we revolted in an extreme way and actually began to push the image of a "curvy is sexy, bones are for dogs" mentality.
We just can't seem to get it right.
Each woman is her own.
Each woman will not look like the other.
Each woman's healthy will be different.
Skinny is not wrong.
Curvy is not wrong.
Only unhealthy is wrong.
I've been on both sides of the spectrum before finally finding my own balance.
When I was a preteen, I was a total butter ball.
All my friends were transforming into young women with their training bras and forming waist lines.
Then there was me.
I still wore over-alls, had baby weight and honestly didn't need a training bra until high school.
I hated that I didn't look like all my friends.
Developing my eating disorder, I became a scrawny version of my old self.
Looking back on photos all I can do is scrunch my nose at the pale, flimsy looking girl looking back at me.
I think each woman has a moment of finding herself along her own journey.
That moment is hers and hers alone.
Some women find it in a man telling her she's beautiful.
Some women find it in a woman's conference.
Some women find it in sports.
We may be 16 or 96 but at some point we find ourselves fully woman and we can embrace our bodies as they are even if the world hates it.
I'm a fair skinned, short girl with minimum cleavage and will always appear a good 5 years younger than I actually am.
I used to always want to be tan, tall, slender and trade my frizzy locks for long silky ones like my sister.
But I had my moment in my walk of life.
I'm Britney.
Nobody else can be Britney.
I am a beautiful woman.
My body is a precious rental that God Himself chose just for me.
So when you find yourself wondering why running is so close to my heart, it's because running was my moment.
Yours will look different than mine.
You might find yours in the weight room or a delivery room.
My moment was found in running shoes.
Am I what the magazines call "hott?"
Uh no.
Will I ever find jeans that don't drag the ground when I walk?
Probably not.
Will I ever get that cleavage?
Probably not.
Will I wake up tan tomorrow ?
Probably not.
Am I beautiful?
Of course.
And unique.
If you've found your moment, I celebrate with you.
If you're still on your quest to find your moment, try new things.
Pick up roller derby.
Or power walking.
Or parasailing.
Or weight lifting.
A body belonging to a mother of 3 is just as beautiful as the body of a 20 year old.
No beautiful will look like the other.
Get healthy;
Whether that means eating more than two carrot sticks a day or finally chomping down on your first veggie.
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. (Psalm 139:13-16 NIV)
Friday, May 31, 2013
Friday, April 26, 2013
The Shadow Proves the Sunshine
Have you ever had a rough patch?
Not like your dog died, but like things are so rocky you're crawling on all fours just to make it up the hill?
There is no safe footing or soft, manageable terrain.
You look back and your companions either turned back long ago or they pushed you aside and are already on their way to the top of the hill without you.
This kind of rough patch gives you two options, each setting the course for the remainder of your life.
You can either turn back in disappointment and follow your companions who abandoned you when you reached this rough patch, or you can dig your knees into the mud and trudge through it with heavy head and determined heart.
Both ways are hard.
Both ways will mean hurt.
Both ways will alter your world.
Both ways lead to a place you've yet to touch or see.
Both ways will require you to dedicate 100% of yourself to that path.
You look down at the steep slope you've covered so far and you see a crowd at the bottom, yelling directions for you to turn around.
"Hey! Hey! Come back down! It's dangerous, this hill you know! Look, you're slipping! What are you thinking? This is no hill suited to climb. You can't possible make it to the top without damaging yourself."
You bury your face stained with dirt from the struggle and tears from the fight to climb into your own shoulder.
You wipe off the sweat, blood and tears from your brow.
You manage to turn your gaze to the top of the hill. The climb is so steep.
It's so treacherous in your line of vision.
Your eyes wander up the rocks and mud, looking for a path to grab hold of.
Your peers shake their heads and some even laugh at you for thinking you could find a foot hold.
But there's a light up top that they can't see, because they've already turned their backs to you and made their way back down.
There's sunshine up there.
There's peace up there.
Your climb is confusing to those at the bottom.
Your climb is hard to understand even for yourself.
Your climb is over-casted by dark shadows.
That's how you know.
That's how you know that there is light at the end of that climb.
You swing your arm back and dig your nails as hard as you can into the clay dirt.
You scream and bite your lip so hard it bleeds as you try to pull yourself up the next stretch of your climb.
You face plant into the earth and your arm goes back to flop in failure when a soft touch snags your elbow and you feel your body being flung onto the back of this stranger.
The ride is still rugged and you can hazily feel your limbs being slung back and forth as the Stranger climbs and trudges through the muck of your climb.
You haven't reached the sunshine yet, but the load has lifted by a great amount.
Your weakness doesn't seem to weigh the Stranger down.
He scoots you on top of His shoulders.
This reminds you of your father, your chin bouncing on his head as you rode on his shoulders so long ago, running from that lightening storm after a baseball game.
You felt safe then,
Like you do now.
You're on the shoulders of Love.
And you can feel the warmth of the sunshine even though you can't see it yet.
That's how you know.
That's how you know that at the end of the climb, that somehow Love will be there and there will be sunshine.
The shadow proves the sunshine.
Not like your dog died, but like things are so rocky you're crawling on all fours just to make it up the hill?
There is no safe footing or soft, manageable terrain.
You look back and your companions either turned back long ago or they pushed you aside and are already on their way to the top of the hill without you.
This kind of rough patch gives you two options, each setting the course for the remainder of your life.
You can either turn back in disappointment and follow your companions who abandoned you when you reached this rough patch, or you can dig your knees into the mud and trudge through it with heavy head and determined heart.
Both ways are hard.
Both ways will mean hurt.
Both ways will alter your world.
Both ways lead to a place you've yet to touch or see.
Both ways will require you to dedicate 100% of yourself to that path.
You look down at the steep slope you've covered so far and you see a crowd at the bottom, yelling directions for you to turn around.
"Hey! Hey! Come back down! It's dangerous, this hill you know! Look, you're slipping! What are you thinking? This is no hill suited to climb. You can't possible make it to the top without damaging yourself."
You bury your face stained with dirt from the struggle and tears from the fight to climb into your own shoulder.
You wipe off the sweat, blood and tears from your brow.
You manage to turn your gaze to the top of the hill. The climb is so steep.
It's so treacherous in your line of vision.
Your eyes wander up the rocks and mud, looking for a path to grab hold of.
Your peers shake their heads and some even laugh at you for thinking you could find a foot hold.
But there's a light up top that they can't see, because they've already turned their backs to you and made their way back down.
There's sunshine up there.
There's peace up there.
Your climb is confusing to those at the bottom.
Your climb is hard to understand even for yourself.
Your climb is over-casted by dark shadows.
That's how you know.
That's how you know that there is light at the end of that climb.
You swing your arm back and dig your nails as hard as you can into the clay dirt.
You scream and bite your lip so hard it bleeds as you try to pull yourself up the next stretch of your climb.
You face plant into the earth and your arm goes back to flop in failure when a soft touch snags your elbow and you feel your body being flung onto the back of this stranger.
The ride is still rugged and you can hazily feel your limbs being slung back and forth as the Stranger climbs and trudges through the muck of your climb.
You haven't reached the sunshine yet, but the load has lifted by a great amount.
Your weakness doesn't seem to weigh the Stranger down.
He scoots you on top of His shoulders.
This reminds you of your father, your chin bouncing on his head as you rode on his shoulders so long ago, running from that lightening storm after a baseball game.
You felt safe then,
Like you do now.
You're on the shoulders of Love.
And you can feel the warmth of the sunshine even though you can't see it yet.
That's how you know.
That's how you know that at the end of the climb, that somehow Love will be there and there will be sunshine.
The shadow proves the sunshine.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Windows Down
Today I was driving back home from a race.
The course was brutal.
I slept terribly.
Driving felt like I had been at an amusement park all day, standing in line for hours for a 5 second ride.
Sunburned and drowsy.
Head bobbling like it belonged on a business man's desk.
My fingers fumbled and cranked up the tunes I barely noticed for the last hour as I got lost in thoughts and the winding road.
"He loves us! Oh how He loves us! How He loves!"
My head rested back on the drivers seat as I whispered the lyrics to the familiar song.
Road winding.
Eyes glazed.
"Britney."
My eyes flickered.
"Love's like a hurricane I am a tree, bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy."
"Britney."
Fine. I'd sit up.
I was waiting like a child for his father to wave their finger and slap their hand.
"Yes? You wanted to speak to me? What? You're angry? Should I get a pen and paper to make a list of how I've handled things in all the ways they disapprove of? Bring it, God."
"Britney. Be silent."
"If Grace is an ocean, we're all sinking!"
"I love you. Britney, I love you."
"Oh yeah? I know a few people who 'love' me. I don't see them here, do You?"
"Them? They? Who? I am the Maker of all things. Do you not think I see you? Has my infinite love gone dry? Does a carpenter build his most prized piece and leave it unfinished? Does he forget the time and love he put into the piece? Does he let it collect dust and rot? No. The carpenter completes his work. The carpenter smooths his piece with time and sweat. Sometimes the piece doesn't take form like the blueprints say. Sometimes the piece is not understood. Sometimes the piece has to be taken apart and reassembled to the carpenters pleasure. You are my piece. You are my most prized possession. Why do you question Me? Am I not your provider? Am I not the Posessor of peace, understanding and possibilities? Do I not hold the Earth in place and yet still keep you tight in My grip? Tell me."
"You are all those things, but I am feeble and small. I lack. I possess the pieces but can't figure out how to place them. They say You won't use me now. They say You can't bless my ministry now. They say my call to missions is invalid. I've been slammed with curses and cut with unacceptance. What could You possibly do with a piece like me?"
"I AM. I AM. I AM. I am the beginning and the end. I am the author and perfector of your faith. I am your hope. I am your anchor. I am the Designer of callings and Writer of your dreams. I am the Alpha and Omega. I am the one Who used the dead, the sick, the lame, the leapor, the beat down, broken, no-good collector of taxes. I am the One Who tamed waves, lions, Satan Himself. I have seen and do see you then, now and on your death bed. I do not operate on the terms of 'they' or 'them'. I have no limits or boundaries to My ways. I create everything out of nothing. I heal when the doctors say no. I mend hearts torn apart by bitterness and hate. My ways are higher, further, deeper, better, stronger than 'they.' Who are 'they' to the Holder of the keys to Heaven and the strings to your soul? I take what 'they' label a set back and make it a stepping stone. Britney, I love you."
The spring wind whipped my blonde locks over my face.
My head leaned back into a resting position.
I let the windows disappear and my hand dance on the air outside my car.
Overwhelmed with grace.
Taken aback by love;
Not the love that waivers on my circumstances,
Not the love that flees and ducks when storms strike.
Not the love that is embarrassed of me.
Not the love that shakes its head and walks away.
Real, insurmountable love.
I am wrapped in it.
Engulfed in it.
Drowning in it.
Completely intoxicated with it.
"He loves us! He loves us! He loves us! Oh how He loves us!"
The course was brutal.
I slept terribly.
Driving felt like I had been at an amusement park all day, standing in line for hours for a 5 second ride.
Sunburned and drowsy.
Head bobbling like it belonged on a business man's desk.
My fingers fumbled and cranked up the tunes I barely noticed for the last hour as I got lost in thoughts and the winding road.
"He loves us! Oh how He loves us! How He loves!"
My head rested back on the drivers seat as I whispered the lyrics to the familiar song.
Road winding.
Eyes glazed.
"Britney."
My eyes flickered.
"Love's like a hurricane I am a tree, bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy."
"Britney."
Fine. I'd sit up.
I was waiting like a child for his father to wave their finger and slap their hand.
"Yes? You wanted to speak to me? What? You're angry? Should I get a pen and paper to make a list of how I've handled things in all the ways they disapprove of? Bring it, God."
"Britney. Be silent."
"If Grace is an ocean, we're all sinking!"
"I love you. Britney, I love you."
"Oh yeah? I know a few people who 'love' me. I don't see them here, do You?"
"Them? They? Who? I am the Maker of all things. Do you not think I see you? Has my infinite love gone dry? Does a carpenter build his most prized piece and leave it unfinished? Does he forget the time and love he put into the piece? Does he let it collect dust and rot? No. The carpenter completes his work. The carpenter smooths his piece with time and sweat. Sometimes the piece doesn't take form like the blueprints say. Sometimes the piece is not understood. Sometimes the piece has to be taken apart and reassembled to the carpenters pleasure. You are my piece. You are my most prized possession. Why do you question Me? Am I not your provider? Am I not the Posessor of peace, understanding and possibilities? Do I not hold the Earth in place and yet still keep you tight in My grip? Tell me."
"You are all those things, but I am feeble and small. I lack. I possess the pieces but can't figure out how to place them. They say You won't use me now. They say You can't bless my ministry now. They say my call to missions is invalid. I've been slammed with curses and cut with unacceptance. What could You possibly do with a piece like me?"
"I AM. I AM. I AM. I am the beginning and the end. I am the author and perfector of your faith. I am your hope. I am your anchor. I am the Designer of callings and Writer of your dreams. I am the Alpha and Omega. I am the one Who used the dead, the sick, the lame, the leapor, the beat down, broken, no-good collector of taxes. I am the One Who tamed waves, lions, Satan Himself. I have seen and do see you then, now and on your death bed. I do not operate on the terms of 'they' or 'them'. I have no limits or boundaries to My ways. I create everything out of nothing. I heal when the doctors say no. I mend hearts torn apart by bitterness and hate. My ways are higher, further, deeper, better, stronger than 'they.' Who are 'they' to the Holder of the keys to Heaven and the strings to your soul? I take what 'they' label a set back and make it a stepping stone. Britney, I love you."
The spring wind whipped my blonde locks over my face.
My head leaned back into a resting position.
I let the windows disappear and my hand dance on the air outside my car.
Overwhelmed with grace.
Taken aback by love;
Not the love that waivers on my circumstances,
Not the love that flees and ducks when storms strike.
Not the love that is embarrassed of me.
Not the love that shakes its head and walks away.
Real, insurmountable love.
I am wrapped in it.
Engulfed in it.
Drowning in it.
Completely intoxicated with it.
"He loves us! He loves us! He loves us! Oh how He loves us!"
Monday, April 8, 2013
Headwinds.
A few weeks ago I tagged along for a run with some friends for a good 13.5 mile long run. I was thrilled and anxious to get started that day and spend time with my good running buddies.
I woke that morning and packed all the things I'd need for my run along the country back roads.
Chunky water bottle, sexy fanny pack to hold beans and gels, you know, the essentials.
I swung open the door and jumped out in my church high heels with my running bag stuffed full.
Then the door swung back ferociously and smacked me in my face.
I stumbled and lost my balance on those ridiculously unnecessary 4 inch heels that I didn't even particularly like.
My carefully pinned back hair whipped and whirled and soon took on the character of a deserted squirrel nest.
I stumbled and fumbled and grasped my car door handle and threw my self inside.
I checked the rear view mirror and my mouth dropped at how 2 minutes in that wind had changed my appearance.
My stomach dropped.
The run.
The run.
This wind.
40+ mph winds on a long run was unthinkable.
I sat in church that morning, occasionally glancing out the side door only to find my hopes of seeing a still sunny day be swept away with the first Arkansan hurricane.
I tapped my foot ferociously as the minutes ran by me, reminding me I was about to trade my heels for a hat and my dress for dead legs.
But I'm no quitter.
But I'm no fear stricken child.
I always brave the run.
I always brave the consequences of going out on a run not knowing how nature or my own flesh will react.
That day the wind whipped my body back and forth on the road, so much it made me rethink skimping on food lately. Maybe that extra slice of pie would have made me less fragile and less moveable.
My hat flew off my head revealing my untamed pile of hair.
I groaned, grumbled and moaned with frustration.
It was cold, windy and I was running straight into winds that could move a car off the freeway.
I pushed myself up a good mile incline, wavering and rolling my ankle as I went.
My friends suggested turning back, the winds were too brutal that day.
We were at mile 8, there was no way I could do that.
If I had the bravery to dive into these conditions, I was not going to cut it short or take some detour.
This run was mine and I was going to fight for it, even if that meant the entire run was against headwinds determined to blow my tiny frame to Greenland.
Tears streamed down my face when I reached the point in the run where I was alone with myself and the wind.
It was too hard.
My arms were swinging 100 times per minute but I felt as if my legs had chains tied around them.
I was running in place, literally.
I was getting absolutely nowhere, so I decided to finally look up from the asphalt for the first time that day:
It was beautiful. The way the trees swayed to the beat of the wind and the waves of grass followed as a good dancing partner does.
Then I took a look at my body and felt myself moving to the same rhythm.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
I smiled and shook my head.
This entire time I was concerned with the headwinds that I hadn't taken the time to see what was actually happening!
I stopped swinging my arms like an Olympic track star, I threw my head back and looked at the sky above me, arms spread behind me like a toddler about to run down a hill for the very first time and flew.
Britney, ready for take off!
I soared and the sunshine danced on my freckled face.
The wind was now a song of love and I was the DJ.
When I saw my car creeping up a small shred of disappointment swept over me.
That run was over, but my run wasn't.
I was saddened that it had taken me until the end of the run to bask in its goodness.
I remember the looks that people gave me as they drove by me that day on the side of the road.
Looks of disbelief and shock.
They were gripping to the interior of the safety of their vehicles and here I was exposing myself to dangerous elements.
But which was more dangerous?
Clinging to the comfort of your leather interior or braving the run.
So as useless is a ship in safe harbors is a person who refuses to face the headwinds.
At the end of the run, I looked up and saw figures standing at the end of the road.
They were the ones who started that run with me, braved it with me and ended it with me.
They were the ones who finished the run when I said I didn't desire to turn back because it was difficult.
On that day, they were my family, and we must take care of our family no matter where we find them.
I woke that morning and packed all the things I'd need for my run along the country back roads.
Chunky water bottle, sexy fanny pack to hold beans and gels, you know, the essentials.
I swung open the door and jumped out in my church high heels with my running bag stuffed full.
Then the door swung back ferociously and smacked me in my face.
I stumbled and lost my balance on those ridiculously unnecessary 4 inch heels that I didn't even particularly like.
My carefully pinned back hair whipped and whirled and soon took on the character of a deserted squirrel nest.
I stumbled and fumbled and grasped my car door handle and threw my self inside.
I checked the rear view mirror and my mouth dropped at how 2 minutes in that wind had changed my appearance.
My stomach dropped.
The run.
The run.
This wind.
40+ mph winds on a long run was unthinkable.
I sat in church that morning, occasionally glancing out the side door only to find my hopes of seeing a still sunny day be swept away with the first Arkansan hurricane.
I tapped my foot ferociously as the minutes ran by me, reminding me I was about to trade my heels for a hat and my dress for dead legs.
But I'm no quitter.
But I'm no fear stricken child.
I always brave the run.
I always brave the consequences of going out on a run not knowing how nature or my own flesh will react.
That day the wind whipped my body back and forth on the road, so much it made me rethink skimping on food lately. Maybe that extra slice of pie would have made me less fragile and less moveable.
My hat flew off my head revealing my untamed pile of hair.
I groaned, grumbled and moaned with frustration.
It was cold, windy and I was running straight into winds that could move a car off the freeway.
I pushed myself up a good mile incline, wavering and rolling my ankle as I went.
My friends suggested turning back, the winds were too brutal that day.
We were at mile 8, there was no way I could do that.
If I had the bravery to dive into these conditions, I was not going to cut it short or take some detour.
This run was mine and I was going to fight for it, even if that meant the entire run was against headwinds determined to blow my tiny frame to Greenland.
Tears streamed down my face when I reached the point in the run where I was alone with myself and the wind.
It was too hard.
My arms were swinging 100 times per minute but I felt as if my legs had chains tied around them.
I was running in place, literally.
I was getting absolutely nowhere, so I decided to finally look up from the asphalt for the first time that day:
It was beautiful. The way the trees swayed to the beat of the wind and the waves of grass followed as a good dancing partner does.
Then I took a look at my body and felt myself moving to the same rhythm.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
I smiled and shook my head.
This entire time I was concerned with the headwinds that I hadn't taken the time to see what was actually happening!
I stopped swinging my arms like an Olympic track star, I threw my head back and looked at the sky above me, arms spread behind me like a toddler about to run down a hill for the very first time and flew.
Britney, ready for take off!
I soared and the sunshine danced on my freckled face.
The wind was now a song of love and I was the DJ.
When I saw my car creeping up a small shred of disappointment swept over me.
That run was over, but my run wasn't.
I was saddened that it had taken me until the end of the run to bask in its goodness.
I remember the looks that people gave me as they drove by me that day on the side of the road.
Looks of disbelief and shock.
They were gripping to the interior of the safety of their vehicles and here I was exposing myself to dangerous elements.
But which was more dangerous?
Clinging to the comfort of your leather interior or braving the run.
So as useless is a ship in safe harbors is a person who refuses to face the headwinds.
At the end of the run, I looked up and saw figures standing at the end of the road.
They were the ones who started that run with me, braved it with me and ended it with me.
They were the ones who finished the run when I said I didn't desire to turn back because it was difficult.
On that day, they were my family, and we must take care of our family no matter where we find them.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
The Spirit of the Marathon
Many want to.
Some try.
In actuality, few do.
It takes months of pain.
It takes hours of sweat.
It takes icing.
Taping.
Foam rolling.
Questioning yourself.
Injuries.
Tapering.
Hill runs.
Sprints.
Self-doubt.
Guts.
What is it?
The marathon.
26.2 miles.
Some think they're ready.
Some know they're ready.
Everyone deep down hopes they're ready.
To many this is just a distance to run.
To many this is just some crazy thing those crazy runners do.
For runners, it's spiritual.
In those months you are tried physically, mentally and emotionally.
You question your ability, your sanity, your confidence and hope in yourself.
You push your body to the limit and stretch your limitations to their brink.
One pain in your foot could devastate you and all your hard work.
One twist of the ankle on a training run makes your heart stop.
The months leading up to my marathon were rough physically and personally.
I had knee pain, heel pain, Achilles pain, whatever pain possible crept its way onto my body.
I had personal battles slap me in the face that many of you know already.
Yet there were many other deep spiritual and emotional battles being fought within myself and in my family before my run.
I ran through pain.
I ran when I felt like my world was crashing in on me.
I ran when all I wanted to do was scream, kick and cry on my bedroom floor because I was in so much spiritual turmoil.
I was questioning God and His promises.
His timing.
His love.
His mercy.
Where was my break, God?
Haven't I fought enough already?
Have You not broken me enough?
I ran when I didn't want to run.
I ran when I wanted to run away from the people who loved me most.
I ran when the doctor said, "you should probably chill out."
I ran when everything around me said to stand still.
I ran from my problems, my pain, my fears and myself.
I'd blare music in my ears on my runs to not think.
I'd cancel on my running friends and run alone so I could cry my eyes dry in solitude.
The marathon is different for every runner.
For me, it was the time in my life where I needed to prove to myself that I was strong.
That I was worthy of greatness.
That there was some sort of hope out there.
That Britney was not a victim of her life but a woman who is a victor in all she does.
That Britney is not fearful but fearless.
That Britney is courageous not a coward.
Through out the marathon I reflected back on every hill I've ever climbed, every storm I weathered and every person who had broken my spirit.
Why had I let life throw its huge stones and get away with it?
No more.
You're running 26.2 miles, Britney.
Victims can't do that.
The weak can't do that.
The hopeless can't do that.
This is your run.
This is your marathon.
Suck up the aches and pains.
Inhale the hard jagged breathing.
Embrace the wars you face and get up and fight back.
Oh, your eating disorder likes to come visit at your weakest moment?
Shut the door in its ugly no good face.
Oh, you feel like you don't fit in?
Make yourself known.
Oh, your dad is sick again?
Get your hope back and glue yourself back together.
Oh, you still sink back into that little girl that feels everyone is pointing fingers at her and whispering?
Tell those voices to shut the hell up. They're not welcome in your life.
Oh, you feel God turned His face from you?
Guess what? He's staring you straight in the eyes right in this moment.
He's applauding your every stride.
It's mile 25 and there's the biggest hill of the race. Will you walk it as a hopeless and broken spirited victim or will you run that damn hill as a fearless, hopeful, strong, full spirited grown woman?
I crossed the start line lost.
I found my spirit again in the marathon.
Some try.
In actuality, few do.
It takes months of pain.
It takes hours of sweat.
It takes icing.
Taping.
Foam rolling.
Questioning yourself.
Injuries.
Tapering.
Hill runs.
Sprints.
Self-doubt.
Guts.
What is it?
The marathon.
26.2 miles.
Some think they're ready.
Some know they're ready.
Everyone deep down hopes they're ready.
To many this is just a distance to run.
To many this is just some crazy thing those crazy runners do.
For runners, it's spiritual.
In those months you are tried physically, mentally and emotionally.
You question your ability, your sanity, your confidence and hope in yourself.
You push your body to the limit and stretch your limitations to their brink.
One pain in your foot could devastate you and all your hard work.
One twist of the ankle on a training run makes your heart stop.
The months leading up to my marathon were rough physically and personally.
I had knee pain, heel pain, Achilles pain, whatever pain possible crept its way onto my body.
I had personal battles slap me in the face that many of you know already.
Yet there were many other deep spiritual and emotional battles being fought within myself and in my family before my run.
I ran through pain.
I ran when I felt like my world was crashing in on me.
I ran when all I wanted to do was scream, kick and cry on my bedroom floor because I was in so much spiritual turmoil.
I was questioning God and His promises.
His timing.
His love.
His mercy.
Where was my break, God?
Haven't I fought enough already?
Have You not broken me enough?
I ran when I didn't want to run.
I ran when I wanted to run away from the people who loved me most.
I ran when the doctor said, "you should probably chill out."
I ran when everything around me said to stand still.
I ran from my problems, my pain, my fears and myself.
I'd blare music in my ears on my runs to not think.
I'd cancel on my running friends and run alone so I could cry my eyes dry in solitude.
The marathon is different for every runner.
For me, it was the time in my life where I needed to prove to myself that I was strong.
That I was worthy of greatness.
That there was some sort of hope out there.
That Britney was not a victim of her life but a woman who is a victor in all she does.
That Britney is not fearful but fearless.
That Britney is courageous not a coward.
Through out the marathon I reflected back on every hill I've ever climbed, every storm I weathered and every person who had broken my spirit.
Why had I let life throw its huge stones and get away with it?
No more.
You're running 26.2 miles, Britney.
Victims can't do that.
The weak can't do that.
The hopeless can't do that.
This is your run.
This is your marathon.
Suck up the aches and pains.
Inhale the hard jagged breathing.
Embrace the wars you face and get up and fight back.
Oh, your eating disorder likes to come visit at your weakest moment?
Shut the door in its ugly no good face.
Oh, you feel like you don't fit in?
Make yourself known.
Oh, your dad is sick again?
Get your hope back and glue yourself back together.
Oh, you still sink back into that little girl that feels everyone is pointing fingers at her and whispering?
Tell those voices to shut the hell up. They're not welcome in your life.
Oh, you feel God turned His face from you?
Guess what? He's staring you straight in the eyes right in this moment.
He's applauding your every stride.
It's mile 25 and there's the biggest hill of the race. Will you walk it as a hopeless and broken spirited victim or will you run that damn hill as a fearless, hopeful, strong, full spirited grown woman?
I crossed the start line lost.
I found my spirit again in the marathon.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Flat Coke Christians
Many people use the term "lukewarm Christian" when describing someone who is neither completely on fire for God or against Him. They're in the middle. They're neither left nor right. The bible says this type of person is spat out of God's mouth. I mean, nobody enjoys warm drinking water. It's useless.
There is another type of person to be weary of becoming: the flat coke Christian.
What?
Okay, have you ever bought a cola and you're so excited about opening it, hearing the pssshhhthththttt of the cap turning, the sweet sugary carbonation slipping and soothing your throat, the inevitable "ahh" sound we all make after drinking that perfect soda...but then...as the liquid reaches your tongue, it's FLAT! Oh nooooo. You make that agonizing facial expression and stick out your tongue in disgust.
What a disappointment.
What a let down.
What a flat coke.
Just like nobody wants to drink a flat cola, nobody really wants to be like one either.
Flat coke looks just like a satisfying coke, sometimes it even makes the same sound when you open the bottle, but you know it's flat by its lack of carbonation when you take the time to taste it.
Just like this flat coke, sometimes we as Jesus followers are flat.
We dress the part.
We talk the part.
But we're flat.
We're complacent.
We're really good for nothing.
Often, we even look like we're busy doing important and holy things...but all the while we are really just mimicking and playing the part of a carbonated Christian.
We are doing absolutely nothing for Jesus.
Now hold up hold up...am I saying singing in the church choir or teaching that Sunday school class isn't a good thing?
No way!
But, what are you doing outside that choir loft and beyond those white church room walls?
Here are a few things Jesus DID tell us to do, actually, command us to do:
Deuteronomy 15:10 (NLT)
Give generously to the poor, not grudgingly, for the Lord your God will bless you in everything you do.
Matthew 5:43-44 (NLT)
"You have heard the law that says, 'Love your neighbor' and hate your enemy. [44] But I say, love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you!
Luke 6:30-31 (NLT)
Give to anyone who asks; and when things are taken away from you, don't try to get them back. [31] Do to others as you would like them to do to you.
Mark 11:25 (NLT)
But when you are praying, first forgive anyone you are holding a grudge against, so that your Father in heaven will forgive your sins, too."
Mark 16:15 (NLT)
And then he told them, "Go into all the world and preach the Good News to everyone.
Love.
Give.
Serve.
Forgive.
Spread the Good News EVERYWHERE.
Love some more.
This is going to step on a few toes, but Jesus isn't impressed that you sit on the front row and get happy clappy on Sunday.
He isn't impressed that your choir can sing Tide on King Jesus in whatever key flawlessly.
He isn't impressed by your JBQ track record or how many lights your sanctuary has.
He isn't flattered by your constant Facebook posts bashing the leadership the King Himself allowed to step into office.
He isn't giving you a slap on the back when you speak out about how much God hates the gays (He doesn't by the way).
He isn't thrilled by how big your Christmad production is or all the different church functions your organized.
I know, you're hating me right now.
But, I simply can not let you keep thinking you're impressing the Creator of the Universe by being really busy but going nowhere.
Do we all have the call on our lives to be a missionary over seas?
No.
Do we all have the call to get off our big behinds and actually do something for Jesus?
Absolutely.
Often as Christians, myself included, get caught up in how much we can occupy ourselves with inside the walls of our church, we ignore the weak, needy, poor, lost, broken people just down the street.
We become flat coke Christians.
This blog hit me this morning as I sat in my friends' church service.
They didn't have a humongous Christmas display.
They don't have the amount of resources that many power churches tend to have, yet there they were, giving a Christmas gift to every single child in their church.
There they were blessing a family in need with a stage full of gifts.
There they were being run completely by volunteers.
When I asked my friends what they were getting each other for Christmas they replied, "we are giving presents to families in need this year instead."
What? This was incredible to me.
It touched me.
Even more it broke me, because as a child who grew up in church my entire life, I've never known such sacrifice, giving, or humble hearts.
It broke me because I realized many f us have become flat.
We have become superficial and selfish.
We have become stuck up and blind towards the poor.
We would rather complain about food stamps and welfare than go volunteer and feed the hungry.
We would rather be in the spotlight in the Christmas special than behind the curtains blessing the poor.
We have become our worst nightmare.
I want to never reach that place again personally.
I never want to choose my own comfort over the needs of those around me.
I never want to be...flat.
There is another type of person to be weary of becoming: the flat coke Christian.
What?
Okay, have you ever bought a cola and you're so excited about opening it, hearing the pssshhhthththttt of the cap turning, the sweet sugary carbonation slipping and soothing your throat, the inevitable "ahh" sound we all make after drinking that perfect soda...but then...as the liquid reaches your tongue, it's FLAT! Oh nooooo. You make that agonizing facial expression and stick out your tongue in disgust.
What a disappointment.
What a let down.
What a flat coke.
Just like nobody wants to drink a flat cola, nobody really wants to be like one either.
Flat coke looks just like a satisfying coke, sometimes it even makes the same sound when you open the bottle, but you know it's flat by its lack of carbonation when you take the time to taste it.
Just like this flat coke, sometimes we as Jesus followers are flat.
We dress the part.
We talk the part.
But we're flat.
We're complacent.
We're really good for nothing.
Often, we even look like we're busy doing important and holy things...but all the while we are really just mimicking and playing the part of a carbonated Christian.
We are doing absolutely nothing for Jesus.
Now hold up hold up...am I saying singing in the church choir or teaching that Sunday school class isn't a good thing?
No way!
But, what are you doing outside that choir loft and beyond those white church room walls?
Here are a few things Jesus DID tell us to do, actually, command us to do:
Deuteronomy 15:10 (NLT)
Give generously to the poor, not grudgingly, for the Lord your God will bless you in everything you do.
Matthew 5:43-44 (NLT)
"You have heard the law that says, 'Love your neighbor' and hate your enemy. [44] But I say, love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you!
Luke 6:30-31 (NLT)
Give to anyone who asks; and when things are taken away from you, don't try to get them back. [31] Do to others as you would like them to do to you.
Mark 11:25 (NLT)
But when you are praying, first forgive anyone you are holding a grudge against, so that your Father in heaven will forgive your sins, too."
Mark 16:15 (NLT)
And then he told them, "Go into all the world and preach the Good News to everyone.
Love.
Give.
Serve.
Forgive.
Spread the Good News EVERYWHERE.
Love some more.
This is going to step on a few toes, but Jesus isn't impressed that you sit on the front row and get happy clappy on Sunday.
He isn't impressed that your choir can sing Tide on King Jesus in whatever key flawlessly.
He isn't impressed by your JBQ track record or how many lights your sanctuary has.
He isn't flattered by your constant Facebook posts bashing the leadership the King Himself allowed to step into office.
He isn't giving you a slap on the back when you speak out about how much God hates the gays (He doesn't by the way).
He isn't thrilled by how big your Christmad production is or all the different church functions your organized.
I know, you're hating me right now.
But, I simply can not let you keep thinking you're impressing the Creator of the Universe by being really busy but going nowhere.
Do we all have the call on our lives to be a missionary over seas?
No.
Do we all have the call to get off our big behinds and actually do something for Jesus?
Absolutely.
Often as Christians, myself included, get caught up in how much we can occupy ourselves with inside the walls of our church, we ignore the weak, needy, poor, lost, broken people just down the street.
We become flat coke Christians.
This blog hit me this morning as I sat in my friends' church service.
They didn't have a humongous Christmas display.
They don't have the amount of resources that many power churches tend to have, yet there they were, giving a Christmas gift to every single child in their church.
There they were blessing a family in need with a stage full of gifts.
There they were being run completely by volunteers.
When I asked my friends what they were getting each other for Christmas they replied, "we are giving presents to families in need this year instead."
What? This was incredible to me.
It touched me.
Even more it broke me, because as a child who grew up in church my entire life, I've never known such sacrifice, giving, or humble hearts.
It broke me because I realized many f us have become flat.
We have become superficial and selfish.
We have become stuck up and blind towards the poor.
We would rather complain about food stamps and welfare than go volunteer and feed the hungry.
We would rather be in the spotlight in the Christmas special than behind the curtains blessing the poor.
We have become our worst nightmare.
I want to never reach that place again personally.
I never want to choose my own comfort over the needs of those around me.
I never want to be...flat.
Flat Coke Christians
Many people use the term "lukewarm Christian" when describing someone who is neither completely on fire for God or against Him. They're in the middle. They're neither left nor right. The bible says this type of person is spat out of God's mouth. I mean, nobody enjoys warm drinking water. It's useless.
There is another type of person to be weary of becoming: the flat coke Christian.
What?
Okay, have you ever bought a cola and you're so excited about opening it, hearing the pssshhhthththttt of the cap turning, the sweet sugary carbonation slipping and soothing your throat, the inevitable "ahh" sound we all make after drinking that perfect soda...but then...as the liquid reaches your tongue, it's FLAT! Oh nooooo. You make that agonizing facial expression and stick out your tongue in disgust.
What a disappointment.
What a let down.
What a flat coke.
Just like nobody wants to drink a flat cola, nobody really wants to be like one either.
Flat coke looks just like a satisfying coke, sometimes it even makes the same sound when you open the bottle, but you know it's flat by its lack of carbonation when you take the time to taste it.
Just like this flat coke, sometimes we as Jesus followers are flat.
We dress the part.
We talk the part.
But we're flat.
We're complacent.
We're really good for nothing.
Often, we even look like we're busy doing important and holy things...but all the while we are really just mimicking and playing the part of a carbonated Christian.
We are doing absolutely nothing for Jesus.
Now hold up hold up...am I saying singing in the church choir or teaching that Sunday school class isn't a good thing?
No way!
But, what are you doing outside that choir loft and beyond those white church room walls?
Here are a few things Jesus DID tell us to do, actually, command us to do:
Deuteronomy 15:10 (NLT)
Give generously to the poor, not grudgingly, for the Lord your God will bless you in everything you do.
Matthew 5:43-44 (NLT)
"You have heard the law that says, 'Love your neighbor' and hate your enemy. [44] But I say, love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you!
Luke 6:30-31 (NLT)
Give to anyone who asks; and when things are taken away from you, don't try to get them back. [31] Do to others as you would like them to do to you.
Mark 11:25 (NLT)
But when you are praying, first forgive anyone you are holding a grudge against, so that your Father in heaven will forgive your sins, too."
Mark 16:15 (NLT)
And then he told them, "Go into all the world and preach the Good News to everyone.
Love.
Give.
Serve.
Forgive.
Spread the Good News EVERYWHERE.
Love some more.
This is going to step on a few toes, but Jesus isn't impressed that you sit on the front row and get happy clappy on Sunday.
He isn't impressed that your choir can sing Tide on King Jesus in whatever key flawlessly.
He isn't impressed by your JBQ track record or how many lights your sanctuary has.
He isn't flattered by your constant Facebook posts bashing the leadership the King Himself allowed to step into office.
He isn't giving you a slap on the back when you speak out about how much God hates the gays (He doesn't by the way).
He isn't thrilled by how big your Christmad production is or all the different church functions your organized.
I know, you're hating me right now.
But, I simply can not let you keep thinking you're impressing the Creator of the Universe by being really busy but going nowhere.
Do we all have the call on our lives to be a missionary over seas?
No.
Do we all have the call to get off our big behinds and actually do something for Jesus?
Absolutely.
Often as Christians, myself included, get caught up in how much we can occupy ourselves with inside the walls of our church, we ignore the weak, needy, poor, lost, broken people just down the street.
We become flat coke Christians.
This blog hit me this morning as I sat in my friends' church service.
They didn't have a humongous Christmas display.
They don't have the amount of resources that many power churches tend to have, yet there they were, giving a Christmas gift to every single child in their church.
There they were blessing a family in need with a stage full of gifts.
There they were being run completely by volunteers.
When I asked my friends what they were getting each other for Christmas they replied, "we are giving presents to families in need this year instead."
What? This was incredible to me.
It touched me.
Even more it broke me, because as a child who grew up in church my entire life, I've never known such sacrifice, giving, or humble hearts.
It broke me because I realized many f us have become flat.
We have become superficial and selfish.
We have become stuck up and blind towards the poor.
We would rather complain about food stamps and welfare than go volunteer and feed the hungry.
We would rather be in the spotlight in the Christmas special than behind the curtains blessing the poor.
We have become our worst nightmare.
I want to never reach that place again personally.
I never want to choose my own comfort over the needs of those around me.
I never want to be...flat.
There is another type of person to be weary of becoming: the flat coke Christian.
What?
Okay, have you ever bought a cola and you're so excited about opening it, hearing the pssshhhthththttt of the cap turning, the sweet sugary carbonation slipping and soothing your throat, the inevitable "ahh" sound we all make after drinking that perfect soda...but then...as the liquid reaches your tongue, it's FLAT! Oh nooooo. You make that agonizing facial expression and stick out your tongue in disgust.
What a disappointment.
What a let down.
What a flat coke.
Just like nobody wants to drink a flat cola, nobody really wants to be like one either.
Flat coke looks just like a satisfying coke, sometimes it even makes the same sound when you open the bottle, but you know it's flat by its lack of carbonation when you take the time to taste it.
Just like this flat coke, sometimes we as Jesus followers are flat.
We dress the part.
We talk the part.
But we're flat.
We're complacent.
We're really good for nothing.
Often, we even look like we're busy doing important and holy things...but all the while we are really just mimicking and playing the part of a carbonated Christian.
We are doing absolutely nothing for Jesus.
Now hold up hold up...am I saying singing in the church choir or teaching that Sunday school class isn't a good thing?
No way!
But, what are you doing outside that choir loft and beyond those white church room walls?
Here are a few things Jesus DID tell us to do, actually, command us to do:
Deuteronomy 15:10 (NLT)
Give generously to the poor, not grudgingly, for the Lord your God will bless you in everything you do.
Matthew 5:43-44 (NLT)
"You have heard the law that says, 'Love your neighbor' and hate your enemy. [44] But I say, love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you!
Luke 6:30-31 (NLT)
Give to anyone who asks; and when things are taken away from you, don't try to get them back. [31] Do to others as you would like them to do to you.
Mark 11:25 (NLT)
But when you are praying, first forgive anyone you are holding a grudge against, so that your Father in heaven will forgive your sins, too."
Mark 16:15 (NLT)
And then he told them, "Go into all the world and preach the Good News to everyone.
Love.
Give.
Serve.
Forgive.
Spread the Good News EVERYWHERE.
Love some more.
This is going to step on a few toes, but Jesus isn't impressed that you sit on the front row and get happy clappy on Sunday.
He isn't impressed that your choir can sing Tide on King Jesus in whatever key flawlessly.
He isn't impressed by your JBQ track record or how many lights your sanctuary has.
He isn't flattered by your constant Facebook posts bashing the leadership the King Himself allowed to step into office.
He isn't giving you a slap on the back when you speak out about how much God hates the gays (He doesn't by the way).
He isn't thrilled by how big your Christmad production is or all the different church functions your organized.
I know, you're hating me right now.
But, I simply can not let you keep thinking you're impressing the Creator of the Universe by being really busy but going nowhere.
Do we all have the call on our lives to be a missionary over seas?
No.
Do we all have the call to get off our big behinds and actually do something for Jesus?
Absolutely.
Often as Christians, myself included, get caught up in how much we can occupy ourselves with inside the walls of our church, we ignore the weak, needy, poor, lost, broken people just down the street.
We become flat coke Christians.
This blog hit me this morning as I sat in my friends' church service.
They didn't have a humongous Christmas display.
They don't have the amount of resources that many power churches tend to have, yet there they were, giving a Christmas gift to every single child in their church.
There they were blessing a family in need with a stage full of gifts.
There they were being run completely by volunteers.
When I asked my friends what they were getting each other for Christmas they replied, "we are giving presents to families in need this year instead."
What? This was incredible to me.
It touched me.
Even more it broke me, because as a child who grew up in church my entire life, I've never known such sacrifice, giving, or humble hearts.
It broke me because I realized many f us have become flat.
We have become superficial and selfish.
We have become stuck up and blind towards the poor.
We would rather complain about food stamps and welfare than go volunteer and feed the hungry.
We would rather be in the spotlight in the Christmas special than behind the curtains blessing the poor.
We have become our worst nightmare.
I want to never reach that place again personally.
I never want to choose my own comfort over the needs of those around me.
I never want to be...flat.
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