today

EIGHT

/ jessicaivaska / 6 Comments

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Eight years ago I did something I didn’t know I could do.

I ran. A half marathon.

I had looked up to distance runners for a long time, admiring them for their strength and perseverance. But I didn’t ever think I’d be in that category.

Then, with two of my best friends by my side, I signed up. I had only ever done two road races:

  1. I had walked (yes, walked) a half marathon. (I’ve never been so sore!)
  2. I’d run a 5k

The half marathon had been in November. Four months earlier. And now I was setting out to run that same distance. I was nervous.

We got there early, not wanting to miss anything. The extra time added to our nerves, but it also gave us time to bow our heads and pray, reminding us of the bigger picture of racing and life in general.

And so, the gun went off, and so did I. As the wet miles of Mercer Island passed by, I realized I could do it. I was going to make it.

At the finish line I was flooded by mix of emotions. Pride, gratitude, excitement, accomplishment.

Then something else set in. The bug.

I knew I wanted to do it again.

Eight months later, with one of those same friends by my side, I ran the full Seattle Marathon.

I never would have guessed that I’d keep running all these years. I never would have guessed that that one race was the start of something big in my life. And that’s the thing, you never quite know when you’re at a turning point.

By God’s grace it just happens — sometimes when you least expect it.

I’m not fast, nor will I ever be, because in running — like in life — it’s not how fast you get to the end that matters. It’s what you learn along the way.

Running has given me a lot over the years: time with God, time with friends, time in creation. It’s helped me push myself, it’s broken me, it’s shown me how incredible the human body is. And so as hard as it is, I keep at it.

Today I had planned to go out for a four-mile run, but a friend wanted to go further, so we did.

Over eight miles. Today, in celebration, that feels like just the right distance.

THROW PILLOWS

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I’ve been redecorating lately. Buying fabrics, thinking about color schemes, imagining newly framed photos on the wall.

For some people, this isn’t anything exciting. They redecorate all the time, making sure the current trends are well reflected in their picture-perfect homes. But for me, in this season, it’s a big deal.

When we moved into this house over a year ago, we were thankful to sign a six-month lease. We thought it would just be temporary in every sense of the word. I hated it, but I figured we would soon be moving on. We didn’t buy new furniture or new artwork. We used what we had and called it good. And it has been good. It’s worked. But every time I had a longing to do something different, to make it feel more settled, I told myself it wasn’t worth it.

We’d move soon, so anything we bought now would be a waste of money. The next place will be better. The next place we’ll settle more.

And that’s where I’ve always lived. I’ve always lived for next. Even when my sister went away to college and I moved into the larger bedroom, I didn’t hang any posters. I didn’t repaint the hideous Pepto-Bismol pink walls because I knew, in a few years, it would be my turn to leave.

The same thing happened in college. I’d only be in a room for nine months so why do anything besides hang my clothes, set up my desk and put on clean sheets?

So here I am, years later, and I’ve decided I’m done living for “next.” I want to embrace where God has me today. I want it to reflect us, right where we are, at this moment.

These days are fleeting. That part I’ve always gotten right. But where you go from there, that’s the part in me that’s changing. Because they are fleeting, I want to be present. I want to be right here, right now and I want to be thankful for it. I don’t want to wish it away (although there are things I wish could change), I want to embrace it. I want to make it mine. Make it ours.

I’m learning that even if we only live here another two months, it will be money well spent. And so, while we aren’t buying the new couch I want, we will hang new curtains, and I’ll sew new pillows. We will print those amazing photos that Erik took and we’ll frame them and hang them on our wall. When you walk in our creaky front door, you’ll see beauty. You’ll see us.

I want to make this place ours, and I want to like how it looks. I want to invite people over and not give them caveat. I want to stop making excuses and telling them about the amazing condo we used to live in.

I want to be here, now, because this is where God has me. This is where He has us.