Of Worms and Women
I need to blog, because it’s been too long. But it’s been too long because I haven’t had any recent inspiration. So I decided to just start writing. If you write, it will come. Or so I’m hoping.

I ran in the rain yesterday. Why? Because I had to run and it was raining. I’m house/dog-sitting in Lexington, so I didn’t have access to my usual Luce Center indoor track for such occasions. So why did I have to run yesterday? Because, as most of you know, I’m training for a half marathon on April 24th (less than 4 weeks away!) Plus, I skipped my run on Sunday. Why did I skip my run on Sunday? (Man, you guys ask a lot of freakin' questions.) Because it was sunny and 83 degrees, aka “too hot” for running (or so my cold climate-adapted body/mind told me at the time). So on Monday, I was stuck running in the rain and wind at 30 degrees cooler, desperately trying not to squish any worms because I’m girly like that. Yeah, it doesn’t make any sense to me either. Luckily I had two friends, Peter and Jason, to help pass the time. Somehow when you’re doing something this pseudo-crazy, doing it with others makes it infinitely more bearable. No longer a torturous experience – you’ve now made a memory that will grow in embellishment and fondness over the years. Both days and years from now over coffee, lunches, office chatter… you’ll be able to make passing references sound like there was a time when all you did was run in the rain.

“You don’t need a coat. We used to run in freezing rain in nothing but a t-shirt and shorts.”
“Oh listen to this! My friend Jason told me the funniest joke. So we were out for a jog and it was raining and he goes…”
“Oh you’ve started running? Do you ever run in the rain, because I actually prefer it to running on sunny days.”
“Hey Peter (loudly with other people in earshot), remember when we were running in the rain, and we saw that really cool (insert something interesting and completely unrelated)?”

Just think - years of bragging rights, exaggerated stories, and party anecdotes. And we were done in under an hour. Next time the weather keeps you from doing something, think about how “so then I sat down to watch TV for a bit” sounds as an opening to a story. And remember–I’m just a regular girl who tries not to step on the worms. What’s holding YOU back?

Day of Birth a Preparation for the Future
Twenty-seven years ago on this day, I woke up for the first time. I emerged from arguably the most comfortable, warm, dark place you can find on earth to an unwelcome blinding light, unsettling loud noises from people I didn’t know and a shocking cold. I cried. Hmm, sounds like every morning since then.

My sworn enemy in life – the one inanimate object whose only purpose is to rip me out of a complete state of comfort - the alarm clock. Since I absolutely cannot handle the beeping, the lesser of two evils is the radio. However, waking up to an obnoxious morning DJ prank calling some poor unsuspecting American—who’s probably just trying to make some coffee and get their families out the door with as little crisis as possible—all in the name of “entertainment?” Well, it’s just sick. However, I believe God gave me a special little birthday present this morning. I woke up exactly one minute before my alarm was to go off. Ah, awakening to peaceful silence and the sun streaming through my window. If you gotta get up and go to work on a Monday morning, it was about the best way one could ask for.

Yes, I’m going to quote Switchfoot again. I just cannot stop listening to their Beautiful Letdown CD. The more you listen to it, the more the music and the lyrics embed themselves in your mind and your heart – and the more you love it because it’s become a part of you.

“Welcome to the planet. Welcome to existence. Everyone’s here. Everybody’s watching you now. Everybody waits for you now. What happens next? I dare you to move. I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor. I dare you to move, like today never happened before.” – Dare You to Move

Julie and the Shamrock Shake: A Love/Hate Relationship
If you're unfamiliar with the shamrock shake, check out this tribute site.
Growing up, each year in my Irish Catholic-rich neck of the woods, the highlight of mid-March for the Weber family was the shamrock shake from McDonald's. At the minimum, the Route 8 McDonald's (which shone like a diamond in the rough on our well-worth path from our house to church), was a weekly appointment on Wednesday nights after church clubs. Without fail, when we saw the signs go up declaring the seasonal milkshake, my brothers and I rejoiced as if we had discovered the land of milk and honey. Suddenly our weekly stop held so much more potential and excitement than any other Wednesday. No boxes of Mickey D cookies and Sprite for us. No hanging out in the church parking lot to play TV Tag. We had a mission: tonite we would delight in a minty frosty treat in an unnatural shade of green. Life couldn't be better. And like clockwork, a quarter of the way into my shamrock shake, I'd realize the mint was a bit much, and I probably would have rather had the chocolate shake. (Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm 1/4 Irish - I can only take so much.) Twenty minutes later, having reached home, a mostly full, now melting shake would be half-heartedly offered up to my mum - and then most likely dropped in the trash. The incident quickly to be forgotten and reenacted to a T the next spring.

And now I have to go. You see my neighborhood Nicholasville McDonald's has shamrock shakes this year. The tradition must live on. I encourage you to start one yourself. :)

What Are We Celebrating Again?
St. Patrick was the wealthy son of a clergyperson who lived in Roman Britain during the fifth century. As a young man he rejected the faith of his family and lived a wild life with his wealthy friends. When he was a teenager, raiders from Ireland kidnapped Patrick, took him to Ireland and sold him into slavery. For six years he faced hunger, deprivation and nakedness as he served his master as a shepherd. During his servitude, Patrick returned to the faith of his family. When he was alone in the fields he turned to God and found solace through faith in Jesus Christ. After a number of years Patrick received a vision from God that called him to escape and return to his home. By God’s protection he returned home. In time he sensed a calling to be a priest in the church. In the midst of the years of preparation for this vocation, Patrick again heard God’s call. This time it was a call to return to the Irish and bring to them the message of God’s extravagant love revealed in Jesus Christ.

Patrick obeyed this heavenly voice and returned to Ireland as a Bishop to make disciples of Jesus Christ and organize communities of Christians throughout the land. Within Patrick’s lifetime, a multitude of faith communities were founded and within a few generations the Irish people were converted from paganism to Christianity. The Irish,
or Celtic, Church then sent missionaries all over Scotland, England and Northern Europe.

Today is an opportunity to reflect on the life of Saint Patrick. He is a great example of holiness and missionary zeal. He reminds us that mission is not the purview of a few special folks, but is the lifeblood of all disciples of Jesus Christ. - Peter Matthews

Passion
"This is the Sunday-school flannel-board lesson for a generation that grew up on violent video games, skipped church, and stood in line to watch Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill, Volume 1 — a gratuitously bloody movie with no redemptive purpose. The Passion has an unmistakable gothic and art house feel, with touches of the ghoulish and grotesque. There is one unforgettable scene of Mary, the mother of Jesus, kissing her son's bloody feet as he dangles from the cross. She then turns around and looks into the camera with his blood on her lips. It is the most sadistic and simultaneously holy thing I have seen." - Steve Beard (More... )

I finally saw The Passion of the Christ this past Saturday night. I know it's only been out a few weeks, but I still felt like I was one of the last people in America (or at least evangelical America) left to see it. Since viewing it I have been unable to formulate my thoughts and feelings into words (spoken, written, blogged...whatever). I still don't know that I can, but I thought I'd spit out a few things and see how it ends up. I told a friend (fellow blogger Cherie) this morning that over the past few days I have viewed myself as "me before seeing the movie" and "me after the movie." Late Sunday afternoon I was driving around feeling more pensive than usual as a result of the movie the night before. The music coming out of my cd player was merely a background to my thoughts. But the words of a Switchfoot song, Twenty-four, rushed to the forefront when I realized the words were melding perfectly with my thoughts... "Life is not what I thought it was twenty-four hours ago... And I'm not who I thought I was twenty-four hours ago. Still I'm singing, Spirit take me up in arms with you. You're raising the dead in me."

As pensive, melancholy and quiet as I’ve been, I have felt more alive spiritually than I have in… a long time. You know the butterflies you get in your stomach when you think of a new love? The guy you’ve only been dating for a few weeks, but you spend every second possible together and he’s beginning to steal your heart away? He comes to mind and butterflies go into full effect, as you think “Is this really happening to me?” Well, I now have them about Jesus. And, for a lifelong church-going girl whose relationship with Jesus grew steadily but slowly over the years, this might be the very first time. I believe I finally understand what new Christians have felt and tried to explain to numb, jaded congregations my whole life. Gibson’s film has allowed me to see, experience and know Jesus in a new way that I never have before. Jesus, our relationship and life are not as I knew them before.

It is for this reason that I will urge almost any adult to see this film. I know that God will work differently in each and every person who sees this film. But based on my own experience, I don’t want anyone else to potentially miss out on what God wants to give them.

Due to some recent burnout, and a subsequent trip to Florida to recuperate, I've been out of the blogging game for awhile. I don't know who checks my blog enough to care that I've been gone, but at least I'M glad I'm back.

I started this entry not knowing what the heck to talk about. It just came to me - I love inspiration.

First let me say, don't be too terribly jealous of my trip to Florida. Yes, yes - south FL is better than any "northern" state this time of year. Given. But it was not exactly a rip-roaring good time. I stayed with one of my best friends from college, her husband, and their 6 month old daughter, Ava. My life has never been so controlled by naptimes and feeding schedules as it was over the past week. I know my friend loves her daughter more than life itself, and I had a wonderful time soaking in the sun with them, but let's just say I was glad to get back to the freedom of my own life.

There was something else I was glad to get back to as well - southern hospitality you might call it. Well, I'm not sure if that pinpoints it exactly, but around here people are just more pleasant to be around. Now, I grew up in the Northeast, and have thus been accused (living here in Kentucky) of having a so-called northern attitude. I'm no New Yorker or anything - but I suppose I have a little more of a sarcastic edge to my everyday tone than any given KY native. But maybe all that's wearing off, and I forget what it's like to live around "my people," because by the end of my trip I was aghast at the rudeness and just plain lack of friendliness I experienced in south Florida. It wasn't completely across the board, just as not everyone around here is always friendly. But more often than not I was the victim of a cold, rude shoulder - by sales clerks, fellow customers, pushy rent-a-cops at the airport, and even people I passed on the street while out running. As I flew home (and even spotted my small town of Wilmore from the window seat of my plane), I thought, man I can't wait to get back home. I have had just about enough of this. Part of me worried though that maybe I was being overly sensitive - as well as overly unrealistic about the level of affability at home.

Yesterday was my first full day back - do you want to know what I experienced in one day? After work I went for a run around town. Every single person I ran by waved or said hello - I even got some waves from people in cars. People turned around to say hi to me before I even got to them. Do you know what I got when I said hello to some people I ran past in FL? Blank stares. After my run I hoped in the car and drove up to Lexington to run some errands. At Michael's I waited in line behind a woman with two small children. The kids were, quite frankly, driving her crazy as was evident through her tone and the excessive amount of time it took her to check out. Neither the people behind me or the cashier got annoyed, however. Instead you heard collective "aww's" and saw knowing smiles from women who have been there before. When it was my turn the cashier was super friendly to me too as she pointed out she had the same yarn I was purchasing and she eagerly expressed interest in what I was going to make with it. I left impressed, but thinking maybe I just got lucky. At TJ Maxx I had to wait an extra 30 seconds as my cashier finished up a friendly conversation with a woman who kept going on and on. When he finished talking to her, he turned to me and breathlessly apologized - "I'm SO sorry ma'am for making you wait. How are you tonight?" I smiled, this was certainly a nice change from the girl at the Gap (in FL) who impatiently yelled out "NEXT!" when I didn't immediately run to her open cash register at my turn. She had wordlessly handed me my bag, so I took the initiative to look her in the eye and say thank you. Her response? I believe it was a grunt, but one can never be too sure. Next stop - Wild Oats, a super granola, all organic grocery store. I stood in line with just two people in front of me as a worker walked past me and said, "Ma'am I can get down on lane 6." As she punched into her register she gushed, "I'm sure you have much more important things to do than stand in line at the grocery store." Surely I'm making this up you say - I'm not. She proceeded to make small talk and we had a brief bonding experience over our shared love of the whole wheat tortilla shells I was buying. I left the store beaming. I walked to my car and cold air blew brisk in my face. I looked around - the trees are still bare and the grass is still dead to the world. But Florida can have their sunshine and their green grass. We'll have it soon enough here, and until then we have the goodwill of our neighbor to keep us smiling and our hearts warm.

Welcome back to Kentucky, I thought. Welcome home.