Far as the curse is found

Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace. 

That song was playing in the Dairy Queen as my mom and I took a driving break last Friday. I nearly melted while washing my hands in the ladies bathroom. All day we had heard news pieces and I had read stories of the events that were still unfolding out of Connecticut. We knew there was a shooting. We knew dozens of people were killed. We knew many were children.

Every mass shooting this year has provoked my heartache and tears. This one hurt in a different way. Probably because of the idea of children. Innocence in a broken world. And how much I love children! A school!? This happened at a school!? Among the ABCs posted on walls and "Days of the Week" calendars. Among rainbow-colored carpets and creation stations. Among an environment designed to feel inviting and safe to little, bright-eyed humans. The contrast between this safe place and the horror experienced there is still fully unconceivable.

As we continued our drive, every American flag we passed flew at half-staff. Each time, I could feel a new set of saline drops pool in my eyes. And that was before I saw any pictures of those sweet faces or heard of courageous acts by caring adults (or caring kids!).

Now that I have been home, I have been helping prep the house for family's arrival (yay!). You would think something as exciting as that would be an easy distraction. But then something reminds me of the tragedy and I have to stop a minute. Pause. Breath. Pray. Weep. Dry my tears and think forward. Remind myself that life is short and precious and our heartbeats are, indeed, limited. I remind myself that even when each heartbeat pains the soul when thinking about this world's brokenness. And that the act of compassion gets easier each time you practice it. Compassion is absolutely necessary, especially in times like these.

A friend posted on Facebook that it was difficult to pull together Sunday's hymns/song set while thinking of the news. He was working on "Joy to the World!" while expressing joy felt difficult. But the third verse served as a form of comfort.

No more let sins and sorrows grow,

Nor thorns infest the ground.

He comes to make his blessings flow

Far as the curse is found

Far as the curse is found

Far as, far as, the curse is found.

That baby's birth that we choose to celebrate on the 25th of December happened because of this world's treachery. That baby's love overcomes all (far as the curse is found). We can rejoice in that, even when our hearts hurt. Especially when our hearts hurt.

Catching up

What has that girl been up to? I wonder that myself.

I know how to keep busy. Doing what, you ask?

Since I last wrote, I had planned on writing many different posts.

I had planned on writing about winning a Twitter contest to receive tickets to a chocolate event at the Hermitage.

My friend said "stand over there by that pretty tree and I'll take your picture."
She didn't say "stay still."

The gorgeous fall day was spent with a good friend (and delicious chocolate) at a beautiful historic site.

I had also planned on writing about life in some of the rolling hills of Stewart County.

We wake up to fog a lot here.

I planned on writing about some of my projects (I still plan on that, in fact), including getting involved with Echoes of Nashville, a historic tour company (and how excited I am about it).

I thought about writing about my trip to Wisconsin, in which I ate cheese, drank beer, and learned to shoot (not all at the same time).

I need to work on my stance, apparently. 

I might even write about my trip to Texas I took this past week. I did so much in less than a week, all I remember is "fabric" and "family" and "fun." The rest is a blur.

I have intentions to be more consistent about posting in the near future. However, I know that I have family visiting (woop!) and the holidays and then a whole week volunteering at the Stones River National Battlefield 150th anniversary events. All that followed by a dentist appointment. So while I have positive intentions, I make no guarantees. Wait for it! I have a New Year and resolutions coming up, don't I?

hills

I am learning very quickly that I have the ability to take hills. Yes, I mostly mean while running (but we all know how I love to link running to life). Since moving from Louisiana, I feel that every surface I run while outside is an uphill surface. To say the terrain of Stewart County is not flat would be an understatement. All roads roll. And while I find these roads fun to drive, they present a special challenge while running them.

I read somewhere that one of the best way to take a hill is to imagine pushing yourself over the hill. Don't just focus on making it to the peak, mentally imagine yourself going past the top and working the downhill. I didn't have much practice of that while in Louisiana. Now I can practice that between 8 and 15 times every mile.

Most recently, I am training for the Oak Barrel Half Marathon in Lynchburg, Tennessee. I would like to also run a few 5ks in the Spring and then try to run the Ragnar Relay race in the summer (and/or fall). I like having these distant races in my mind while I train. It makes me push myself harder. It makes me think beyond the day's run and what I am ultimately running for. I run for my health, yes. I run to keep in shape and not have to buy bigger pants, yes. But I especially run for race day. I love the excitement of race day.

When I think of myself up and over hills during my training runs, I am imagining myself taking the hills of the half marathon course around Lynchburg. I imagine the spectators cheering and the feeling of crossing the finish line. And with each hill, I feel a sense of accomplishment. They are minor accomplishments, but accomplishments, nonetheless.

I find myself encountering hills in life, too. I have to push myself to see beyond the steep grade and think of pulling myself up and over the hill. Ultimately, I have to remember in the grand scheme of things, these hills are tiny and that there are bigger things (like the festivities after a major race) that I work for.

Besides, if I didn't get out to stretch my legs, how else would I catch sunsets like this?

coffee and donut

Dra-at. I had almost completed a new post when the internet died and said post had not saved.

[grumble grumble grumble]

I'm over it. So now I will start afresh. Here's the thing: what I wrote before is lost and I am not even going to bother trying to recreate it. Instead, I will let you know that if you refrain from drinking coffee for months and cut processed sugar out of your diet for months indulging in coffee and donuts is a rush

{silver}

that is difficult to describe

{pancakes}

although I can say that my right leg won't stop quivering

{air}

and that my brain is operating at a much faster pace than it is used to

{lace}

and that my heart might explode.

I only wish I was kidding. However,

{bananas}

may I suggest the Pumpkin Spice donut from Dunkin' Donuts?

{Grace Kelly}

That Pumpkin Spice donuts is absolutely delicious!

{glove}

Now I need to go

{stars}

figure out the rest of my day or

{sparkle}

maybe go for a run or

{tornado}

figure out how to detox myself from this

{craziness}.

casting my vote

I have a distinct memory of my mom taking me along with her to vote when I was in third or fourth grade. We went to the local library building, not checking out books that time. "This is very important," she told me. I remember her telling me almost gravely of the seriousness and responsibility we have to vote (although, the gravity of the matter is probably a combination of my flare for the dramatic and my choosing to remember my past with that same flare).

Oh, the excitement as we stepped into the gray booth! Oh, the wonder of that machine!

I still walk onto voting premises with pride. Oh, the significance of the act! Oh, how my voice is counted! I think of the many in history who have been denied their right to vote (example: when my great-grandmother was born, she legally was not allowed to vote) and am thankful for my right. I think of individuals worldwide who do not have the privilege to cast their opinion via ballot and am thankful for my right.

The red "Cast Ballot" button seemed especially bright yesterday afternoon. I nearly squealed in delight as I stepped out of the voting area, resisting the urge to curtsy on my way to my car.

Thank you! Thank you! I just made a difference while exercising my amazing right as an American citizen.

Freedom to be Crazy

Crazy arrived in my mailbox yesterday.

The nondescript envelope was addressed to "Resident." My mom suggested I throw it away but I could not contain my curiosity. What's in it? I tore the envelope along the side edge, careful not to damage the contents. I pulled out a brochure.

This was no ordinary brochure. The title, "Favored Races" and the subtitle, "What if they had integrated?"immediately caught my attention. What is it? And do I see what I think I see? Yes. Upon reading the document a little more thoroughly, I discovered that it was a racist piece of propaganda sent by what appeared to be a local individual desiring to run for the Tennessee House of Representatives. Specifically, the political platforms outlined included discussions about how certain races were superior to other races and allowing for lesser "favored races" to breed with "favored races" would "have a more devastating effect on civilization than nuclear bombs." Specifically, the argument attacked Mexican immigration. Wait for it:

"Mexican immigrants are weapons of mass destruction." No joke. That's what the brochure claims.

It continues, "The Mexican immigrants are good workers and add to our economy you say. What did they add to the Mexican economy?" The ridiculousness of these and other statements removed my ability to be angry at this person (a Mr. James Hart, although his website does not work, surprise surprise). I should be angry at the racism, and maybe even compassionate at the stupidity, but ultimately I laughed at the sheer notion of the entire event. How did this individual make enough money to even get his ideas printed, much less be able to run for any level of public office in these States United in the 21st Century? His crazy completely removed the validity of his arguments. Sorry, dude.

While reading aloud some of the statements of this "candidate's" platform, my mom asked if it was even legal (I am sure the racist severity was making her uncomfortable... as it should). Yes. Crazy is allowed to say what he (or she) wants to in these States United (cue Lee Greenwood's "Proud to be an American"). In fact, this type of speech needs to be protected, as crazy or stupid or mean as it may be. That's part of being an American- having rights to use our words (or our brochures) to say inspirational things, to challenge mainstream ideas, to push innovation, or even to propagate stupidity.

God Bless the U.S.A. (Yes, I sang that part. Loud.).

With my blood pumping red, white, and blue this afternoon, I will take to the polls and exercise one of my most treasured rights as an American citizen. And while I tend to keep my political opinions to myself, I can honestly share that I will not be voting for Crazy.  

smiles are humanity's sunshine

I wonder if people realize the power of encouragement? The force of a kind word can make a heart soar. I often forget. I know I think of kind things about others, but I don't always say them. I need to vocalize those thoughts more often.

This past weekend I had a chance to go back to Stones River National Battlefield and see a number of people I haven't seen in what felt like forever (yes, yes, I only visited there like two months ago). Since so much has changed in my life in such a short time, I felt like I was visiting the place as a different person and I wondered how people would respond to my recent life-changes (especially since most people there were used to seeing me in the green and grey).

All I received was positivity and encouragement from people I talked to. I felt especially encouraged when some people I greatly respect said nice and encouraging things. Often, those words were practically in passing while conversing about a variety of topics, but their kindness meant the world to me.

To those who said nice things to me: thanks, thanks, and thanks again (one million times over). To those who say nice things daily: you are my hero(es). To those who don't realize how you impact the world with your positive projections: you rock. I am working on being kinder, being more expressive with my own encouraging words.

Farm Dog

We know, we know. She's told us a million times. She loves fall.

I really do.

Fall brings its fair share of outside chores (in beautiful weather, of course). In addition to the regular seasonal raking, sweeping, watering, and bedding down for the winter, my parents have a new house with another layer of chores that have to be complete. It's a good thing I have a farm dog to help me out.

All 7 pounds and 4 ounces bound around the yard as helpful as you can imagine a 6-month puppy could be. He especially likes to chase butterflies, chew on sticks, and crunch on hickory nuts (all things conducive to chore-completion). His masculine fur catches all possible burrs and stickers, as well as the crispy curling leaves that he passes. His attention span darts from one noise to the next, constantly keeping him moving about the yard. Zeke probably loves fall more than me. Now if I could only get him to learn how to properly use a rake...

Cumberland River Run(ning)

I finally did it. I finally went for a run in my new backyard. Between all that I had to do before leaving Louisiana and packing and moving and attempting to settle in, I have not gone for a run in over two weeks (and the two weeks before, I may have gone for a total of four runs). I needed to get up and go!

Where I currently live is tucked into a hillside. Literally. While I find preemptive relief knowing that my bedroom will be the safest place during a tornado, it means I have no easy access to running trails. I wasn't exactly sure where I would wind up this morning, but I had do go somewhere. I found that somewhere 8.3 miles down the road.

As I tooled down the road looking for someplace suitable, I saw a road with a bridge that led to an island or peninsula-type landmass. I  turned onto that gravel road and found myself in Cross Creeks National Wildlide Refuge.

The bridge beckoned me to cross. I am glad I did.

It was slightly overcast, not even 60 degrees, and breezy. Even at the 10 miles per hour my car creeped and bumped along along, I could feel my running shoes itching to hit the pavement. I found a parking area, stopped, got out, and barely remembered to stretch before I hit the pavement.

The winding road along the river seemed to stretch for an eternity.

I may have found my new favorite place in the world to run. The gravel road stretched between two bodies of water (the Cumberland River and probably an inlet of the river). Trees painted with autumn colors stretched over either side of the road. I caught myself out of breath before I knew it, as I was moving too fast to pay attention to my speed or heart rate. "Keep going!" yelled the little voice within. "Find out what is behind that bend!"

The sun attempted to burn through the clouds at one point.
It did not make it through; rather its light provided a warm glow through the trees.

I had to turn around for I had things to do, but I am looking forward to tying up my laces tomorrow and stretching my legs out along that river.

Winding Roads

"I am going to kill you," she said through her pasted smile and gritted teeth. When my mother's jaw sets like that, it means she is only mostly kidding.

Under the glow of the hotel lobby florescent lights, I decided that was not the moment to declare "what an adventure!"

We had just finished a three-hour drive through bumpy, windy roads of central Louisiana. In the pitch black. And maybe through some heavy fog. Earlier in the day, I had decided this route would be better, as I wanted to avoid the traffic in Baton Rouge. That is a decision I believe we both questioned repeatedly during that three-hour drive. We packed the truck on Thursday and decided to leave that evening to get a jumpstart on the nearly eleven-hour drive to Tennessee. After a shower, a pseudo-nap, and some dinner, Mom and I got behind our respective wheels; she would drive the moving truck and I would drive my car.

I am pretty sure I ran over six frogs on that leg of the trip. Mom said she stopped counting the frogs she hit. We also passed raccoons, rabbits, armadillos, and possums. Some of the animals were alive and some were roadkill. Some stretches of the road was just pavement and a sharp drop on either side. Some of the drive ran across long bridges that were probably scarier to drive during the day if we knew what we were driving over. We bumped, rattled, and wound our way through Louisiana, stopping just across the Mississippi border in Natchez. Those hotel beds provided comfort if for no other reason than the fact they were still places to rest for the night.

Friday morning we hit the road again, taking a brief visit at Natchez National Historical Park (I can't pass a National Park Service site and NOT stop!). We arrived in Stewart County on Friday night with the cold and drizzly rains, unloaded the truck on Saturday under a pleasant autumn sun, and I have spent the past few days trying to breathe. I have been non-stop for the past several weeks. You know that muscle spasm that happens after you stop doing a movement repeatedly? Your muscles still think they need to move, so they keep moving in an odd and uncontrollable manner. I am currently in muscle-spasm mode. I know I need to keep going, keep doing! Wait, wait. No, I don't. I can sit a minute and it is okay. Is it!? I have to keep going, keep doing! No, no. I don't. Some habits just die hard.