Peace within...

The one thing we long for,

we must have to give freely.

It's forms: intricately designed and distinct.

It descends in moments of despair,

enveloping you, lifting you, sustaining you.

It permeates in moments of joy,

deepening the moment; strengthening faith, hope.

How often have prayed for it:

how quickly it has been granted.

It has been my armor, strength

in all that I have endured.

In the moments of quiet meditation

I pray that I can be

an instrument of peace to those

who look for strength, hope, sustenance;

and that the peace I find within

is always there, given freely, abundantly.

Have peace?  Check out Melissa and Six Word Fridays.

Right...or enlightened?

In the spectrum of wrong, right
lies the possibility, opportunity to enlighten.
Given the chance, would you rather
be wrong, be right or be

able see all that lies between,
unspoken?

Curious about Six Word Fridays?  Check out Melissa at Making Things Up!

And they lived happily ever after...

Fifteen years ago tonight, two kids got married. They were twenty two years old, in love, newly degreed, new homeowners and basically broke. They took the biggest leap of faith ever. Amid a meringue like wedding dress and even pouf-ier veil, with no safety net and no clue of what they were getting into, they said "I do" in front of a small gathering of family and friends, celebrated at a small reception and headed off into the sunset.

Fifteen years later, there are three extra bodies in the household. The new house became the old house. The Bachelor's degrees gave way to a Master's degree and a varied assortment of certifications and accolades. Carefree became responsible. And those two young kids are now thirty-something parents of three boys.

Fifteen years has seen a lot of changes. Jobs, cars, hairstyles, eating habits, spending budgets, saving budgets, vacation plans, travel modes, television programming and communication methods. We have lost so many loved ones, welcomed so many people into our family and hearts.

Here's to the next fifteen, love. In spite of the odds, in spite of our infinite differences, we recognized each other and have held on like hell. For the most part, it has been the most wonderful thing we have ever challenged ourselves to commit to, besides parenthood. At times, the ride has bumpy, arduous and challenging. But there is no one else on Earth I would rather go on this rollercoaster with.

Thanks for asking. Thanks for showing up. Thanks for being my biggest supporter. Thanks for still making my heart flutter when I hear your voice, when I see you walk in the door.

Thank you for entrusting your heart to me all those years ago.

In spite of the thick eyebrows and wild hair.

Chilly weather, a good cry and a bowl of chili

We had our first cold snap this weekend. For Floridians, the first sign of cold weather sends us into a frenzy. We blow out our arsenal of winter clothes at the first drop of the mercury. We are convinced that the colder weather will decidedly bring on pneumonia in our children, therefore, they walk around closely resembling Ralphie's little brother from A Christmas Story.

Seriously, folks. The low was 55°.

I was finally beginning to feel better after the crud, but I had not trained during the week because I had been feeling so lousy. Saturday, I feared, was a day of reckoning. And cold weather to boot.

For the most part, the run was good. It was short by weekend training standards. Only eight miles compared to the 10 of a few weeks ago. It was cumbersome to run with a light jacket wrapped around my waist, but I was okay.

Until the last 2 miles. My right hip started acting up. I don't know if it was the cold, the lack or runs during the week or if I hadn't stretched enough. We had a slight wind going on the way back on our route, so it felt as though I was working harder to move. I was miserable. I ran, but at shortened time intervals. I finished, happy to be back to doing something I never thought I would enjoy and stretched out, thinking about all the stuff that was waiting for me when I returned home.

On Saturday mornings, after the group reassembles upon returning from our run, our team captain holds a clinic about upcoming topics related to training. We go over our fundraising efforts in our fight to cure Lymphoma and Leukemia. We also have a Mission Moment, where a survivor comes to speak to us about their story in fighting blood cancer.

The Mission Moment did me in this week. This man had fought Lymphoma for four years. When he was diagnosed, he was at Stage 4, and given less than two years to live. As he related his journey, and his medically impossible recovery, the tears were flowing.

The whole weekend, I was in a heightened weepy state. I don't really know why, but this man's story, his subsequent recovery and renewed sense of his life's purpose was the catalyst for many a tear shed this weekend.

Today, even bigger news. Our friend's daughter, who has been battling an incredibly rare brain tumor reached another incredible milestone. Her MRI came back clean. This precious three year old has endured brain surgery to successfully remove the tumor, months of chemotherapy, weeks of relentless radiation and her miraculous recovery continues.

What do these two stories have in common? Incredible human warrior spirits and immeasurable faith, in the face of insurmountable circumstances.

It was a welcome change to go back to work today, after the amount of exercise my tear ducts got this weekend. Somehow, working with my students, hearing their chatter, helping them through their obstacles is a really good way to get through whatever ails you. After a long day, I headed home to the cacophony of tennis lessons, cooking dinner, trading children in said tennis lessons, homework, antibiotics, baths and bedtime.

On the menu for dinner tonight? Turkey chili.

Because, sometimes, "chilly" weather, a good, long cry and a bowl of chili makes everything okay.

I'd never known love like this before...

Ten years ago, I gave birth to my oldest son. Even though I knew that my life would be turned around, I never could have imagined in how many ways my life would be changed for the better. Those four words, "You have a son" made me a mother, and the last ten years have seen an incredible amount of growth and a love that knows no boundaries or limits.

My son. Words that I longed to hear for so long. Words that made me a mother for the first time. The last ten years have brought many first's. The last ten years have seen an infant come into the world, hold up his head, turn over, smile real smiles, sit up, crawl, eat real food, say words that meant something, say I love you, walk, run, and do all kinds of amazing things.

The most amazing? His ability to be compassionate. His love for his brothers and his family. How when he spoke to his Grandma (who just had her second round of chemo yesterday) this afternoon, the first words out of his mouth were "How are you REALLY feeling, Grandma?" The way he carefully read the incredible card his seven year old brother made for him and the way he didn't tell his brother the presents were all his.

Even today, ten years after he came into my world, scrunched up face, crying his newborn mewling cry, I stand in awe. I am in awe that I am a mother. I am in awe that regardless of the crappiest day I may have encountered, or how tired I am, or how much they suck the last dregs of energy within me, there is no other place I would rather be, or anybody I would rather be with.

I am in awe of how much I have changed as I brought home that beautiful newborn baby boy. I am stronger than I ever thought I was, weaker than I would like to admit, and know that there is so much that is out of my hands. Motherhood has made me challenge myself in ways I never thought possible, change aspects of myself I thought were engrained genetically, and constantly makes me want to be the person my kids already believe I am.

On the early morning my son was born, as I gazed into the eyes of this tiny creature whose survival depended solely on me, I knew I was in trouble. I knew that I was about to experience a love I had always heard about, but could only imagine. I knew. I knew that there would never be an enemy too great, a fear too insurmountable. I knew that I would do whatever I needed to do to make sure that this child (and the others that would soon join him) would never know fear, hunger, anxiety. In those brief moments, as the doctor showed my husband and I one of the greatest gifts ever bestowed on us from the other side of the surgical sheet, I knew I was a mother.

My dearest Matthew, you have taught me to believe in what I know exists but cannot prove. You have taught me that there is NOTHING that isn't possible when you seek it with a pure heart and pursue it with love. You have shown me that I am capable of being the person you know is there, the person I always knew I could be.

My darling boy, you have been a joy from the moment we knew of your existence. You have been an endless source of pride and joy, a source of happiness and amazement for your father and I. We are blessed to have you as our son, our firstborn. Rest tonight, knowing in your heart that your father and I love you as much as any person can love another; hopelessly, fully, truly, deeply. We love you to the moon and back. Happy tenth birthday, my love.

10 miles of me, my thoughts...and my legs running

As many of you who follow this blog know, I am training for a half marathon in late January.

For many of you who know me personally, you must know that Armageddon must be coming upon us rather quickly.

Because I am not an athletic person.

And because up until August of this year, only bodily fluids exploding out of my children's beings (or blood curdling screams), got my ass up and running in record speed.

But my neighbor, who is always full of ideas, decided that this would be a great challenge for us to undertake.

Fortunately, we are not training without serious help. We are raising money for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and their affiliate Team In Training, which take a slug like me and makes them marathon ready.

How ready, you ask?

Ten miles in a little over two hours this past Saturday ready.

Yes. Ten miles. 135 minutes. This Saturday. And I am still upright.

At first, I thought my biggest challenge would be raising the $1700 for Leukemia and Lymphoma research. But, as of last month, not only had I reached my goal, I surpassed it.

Then came the REALLY early in the morning runs. We're talking 4:30 am people. And yet, I found that not only can I get up at that time, but I can actually run, if given the appropriate soundtrack, AND feel good for the rest of the day.

And even more surprising? When I don't get up at un-Godly hours to run a ridiculous distance, I feel TERRIBLE. I feel guilty for sleeping until the "late" 6:45 a.m. time.

But what I am enjoying the most on the mornings I run (O.K., besides bragging rights to my thoroughly impressed third graders) is the time to think, by myself, for a good hour.

Because even though a huge range of musical genres are blaring through my wireless headphones, my mind is still. I don't have a thousand jumbled messages getting crossed in transmission. Thoughts are not getting pushed aside by the day's impeding agenda.

It is impossible not to clear your mind when you run. Granted, I didn't run straight through for ten miles on Saturday. I did intervals of two minute, fast paced walks and one and a half minute runs. But when you are exerting that kind of force, you must focus on breathing, on moving one leg in front of the other, rapidly.

And with each breath, each foot in front of the other, I pushed myself to do something I never thought I could do. As I neared the final intersection before reaching our ending point, the smile on my face was huge. I knew I could do anything.

In January, I will run the ING Miami Half Marathon. I will have raised the most money I have ever raised; by myself. I will run for two and a half hours; I will cross that finish line. I will have time to think about the magnitude of what I am doing, and who I am doing it for. I will have done something solely for the good of others.

In February, I will run the Disney Princess Half Marathon. This will be just for me. I will run for two and a half hours; I will cross that finish line. I will have time to think about the magnitude of what I am doing, and who I am doing it for.

I will know that I am strong in body, not just spirit.

And I will have done something solely good for me.

This will be JUST for ME.