Whose idea was this? Oh right. God's.

My boss still laughs at how excited I was after my first 5K several years ago. This was a big deal for me at the time; 6 months later, he had thrown me into a 50K - and I survived. So I guess it's not that big of a surprise when, as a person who never desired to be her own boss or own her own business, instead of working my way up by, let's say, an on-line store, a small in-church store, or even going through a franchise, I decide to build my own Christian bookstore from the ground up myself. But reality hadn't set in; not with the first meeting of our new s-corporation officers; it wasn't opening the first box of business cards, receiving my first book order from the distributor, having an official logo worked up by a graphic artist. It wasn't even the $9500 check I wrote for a deposit and first month's rent on a rent space. It wasn't opening a bank account with 6 figures to start on build out and inventory. The reality of opening a bookstore from scratch came from my incomplete triathlon. Many of you have followed Iron Girl Traveling. Needless to say, blogs have not been updated recently due to other more urgent priorities. But my alter ego took a dual hit: a mandatory week vacation left me stuck in Sacramento for nine days straight and I didn't go further than 16 miles to Roseville. The kicker is, I had tickets to Alaska and Hawaii that went unused. HAWAII, PEOPLE. Then the following week, a sprint triathlon I had been braving near-drowning experiences to at least moderately train for suddenly showed up on my doorstep, and I hit a wall. Demands of building a brand-new business while continuing to work full-time and meet other day to day responsibilities left me completely unprepared when I slept through my alarm the morning of the triathlon. I scrambled to get out the door, knowing I'd never make it on time for the starting horn. I had to be ok with cheering from the sidelines. That was the first time the enormity of what I was trying to handle sunk in. My travel bug ungainly on its back, legs vainly thrashing to upright itself, my wanna-be triathlete identity suffering schizophrenic episodes. Now it feels real.

Notes from August

This is the point I start to doubt that I'm hearing God's voice. For my birthday, I received a plaque with this definition of FAITH: It's not that you believe that God CAN do it, it's that you believe He WILL do it. And that's where my deepest struggle lies. Of course, the God who created all we see, raises the dead, splits the seas CAN do it; the doubt is I'm worth His attention. What if we start this bookstore and nothing goes right? What if all the money we (and I mean, my mother) invests in this goes right down the drain, and I'm still on the hook for a high lease rent for the next 5 years? What if all the hype about this being my calling in life is really a fleeting attempt to pull myself out of a dark stretch of years surviving a failed marriage, an upside down mortgage, a job that is very clearly not my passion in life? What if this is a misguided attempt to find value in my life through the disguise of starting a ministry worthy of the rich heritage of my parents' missionary lifestyle?

Sweaty Feet

There have been many comparisons of the faith walk and a marathon, all more profound than anything I have to offer. But it's in the dark recesses of the mind when the body has bonked, or hit the wall, that spiritual parallels become its own glucose source to where I am traveling spiritually. Besides, trail runs are such a different beast from marathons run on smooth, ankle-friendly (but joint-destructive) pavement. So here are a few thoughts that ran through my mind during my latest trail race:

1. Take the downhills in a healthy stride. If the path is gracefully sloping downwards, I open up my stride, let gravity and my body weight carry me down on a wave of free energy. God allows stretches of merciful downhills in my spiritual walk; rather than use it as an excuse to coast, I take full advantage of this "easy" stretch to gain as much ground as quickly as possible. These are excellent times to gain ground by increasing prayer/devotion time, encouraging others on their uphill stretch, joyfully shouting His praise. Yes, I am still aggressively cautious enough to slow down on the hairpin turns and rocky stretches, knowing that if I let my momentum get beyond me, I'll overshoot the next turnoff and end up in the poison oak.

2. Be sensitive to when it's time to follow at someone else's pace and when it's time to pass on the left and set the pace. Going downhill, I was stuck behind two novice trail-runners and was forced to shuffle painfully slow a long stretch that I really needed to blast out while I had the momentum. I've known times that it is a better growth experience for me and for the other runner if I stay at their slower pace, encouraging and giving tips along the way. I'm usually the slower one that is receiving the benefits of a faster, more experienced runner slowing down their pace to mine and am immensely grateful to those both spiritual and physical mentors. Conversely, there are sections of the spiritual trail that God calls me to pull ahead and use the skills and energy He has placed in me to run a pace that is set by His Spirit alone, even if it draws me out of the pack.

3. Have sweaty feet. After the race, a rep for Asics was analyzing my gait and testing my shoe fit. Kneeling at my feet, poking and prodding my 2150s, he grinned up at me and said, "wow, you have sweaty feet!" Already red from the sun and the final sprint to try to get in under an hour (sorry, Kiley and Pamm, I didn't make it), I must have blushed a deeper crimson because he hastily added, "no, that's a good thing -- that means you ran a hard race." Indeed. I hope when I reach my goal, my Abba grins proudly and happily down at me and says, "wow, you have sweaty feet!"