"TO THE PAIN!"

"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO US??????"
If my legs could talk, this is what they would be screaming at me, and in their own polite way, they have been doing just that for the past few days now. I really think that they're more passive-aggressive than anything; Just quietly revolting against the rest of my body and my noble efforts.
It started on January 1. Training for this marathon, that is. There were a lot of things that sealed the deal for me. It was Sue Demmit telling me I needed to work towards a goal. Then my friend Luke told me about the Lincoln Marathon and printed out the training schedule. Then I happened upon this stellar movie called "Saint Ralph" right around Christmas time. I mean, if a scrawny pre-pubescent boy can run the Boston Marathon, then surely I, Krista can take on this lofty goal with ease! Ease, I say! I was so ready to go for it! I still am. But my legs are not.
Up until about 2 weeks ago, things were great. I was getting out there. I was running 10 miles, then 15 and feeling pretty darn good about it. Sure it was a challenge, but I did it- and in fairly respectable fashion, if I do say so myself. So, I don't know what happened. I wish I could actually point to something, but no. It's just like my previously confident legs of steel have morphed into legs of lead. I feel like I can't go anywhere, and even when I do, they're just trying to run in the opposite direction (picture that, please!)
So, where does this leave the rest of me? I do not know. I will not give up, but there is some kind of wall that I must now push through in leiu of my legs kicking through! They will not seem to do this sort of action as of late. If I were to take my Grandpa's advice, ("You better knock that running business off, you're gonna give yourself a heart attack!") I would have already stopped, but aye, I cannot. What is started must be completed.
A scene from "Princess Bride" comes to mind just now. Remember at the end of the movie when Wesley is laying on the bed, paralyzed, but Prince Humperdink doesn't realize this. Humperdink challenges him to a fight "To the Death" and Wesley says, "No! To the 'Pain'", then proceeds to describe in graphic terms how he will cut off his nose, arms and legs, but will leave him alive with only his ears intact so that he can hear the children shrieking in horror at the sight of him, and Humperdink is duped and runs away from the helpless Wesley...ah, what a great movie! But anyway, somewhere there was a correlation between that and how I feel right now. I think that I am Wesley, slightly paralyzed, but determined, and my legs are Humperdink and I will challenge my legs "to the pain", until they start to run at just the sound of my voice!
Memo to my legs: We are going to Lincoln, babies, whether you like it or not!
TO THE PAIN!!!

A quote and a prayer for today...

"Let us throw ourselves into the ocean of God's mercy, where every failing will be cancelled and anxiety turned into Love."
-St. Paul of the Cross

and a prayer I found the other night while reading "Hearts on Fire- Praying with Jesuits"...
It seems to speak loud and clear to me...

Lord, enfold me in the depths of your heart; and there hold me, refine, purge, and set me on fire, raise me aloft, until my own self knows utter annihilation.
-Pierre Teilhard de Chardin SJ

Dying and Rising

Last Weekend...
I was scheduled to help with the TEC (Teens Encounter Christ) retreat in Gering, Nebraska, and on the day I was supposed to leave, I completely lost my voice. I mean, full-fledged laringitis. Only a whisper would come out. I was supposed to be helping lead the music, work as a small group leader and give the "Signs" talk, as well as lead the ice breakers for the 60 participants. Do you see a common thread in these activities? Right, you have to TALK! And what did I have? Diddly Squat. I forgot to mention that I felt like crap, too. I made the decision to still go down there and come home if it got worse. It's kind of funny, though, because about 10 miles outside of Alliance, I turned back around thinking "they can do without me, I'm SICK". I drove about a mile back towards Alliance and then turned back around again to head back to the retreat. (Never mix sickness with an indecisive person! It's a scary combo) So I got there and all the leadership team was milling around, loudly greeting one another, getting things ready, and in a whisper I'm saying,"UGGGGG! Why am I here???" Well, I didn't know why, but I'm convinced now that God did. So, I just started writing "Wheat Letters". These are the letters that are given to the retreatants throughout the weekend by the "Wheat Team", which are the behind the scenes people who pray and serve the whole weekend. These letters are meant to encourage the candidates in their journey of faith during the retreat.
Let me backtrack and explain TEC. It is a 3 day retreat that follows the death, rising and going forward of Jesus. His Passion, basically. We look to him first and see how that reflects into our own lives. Very powerful. So we have "Die Day, Rise Day and Go Day". Die day is especially long and difficult. How much fun is it to talk about dying to self?
I started writing these letters in the back room and the more I wrote, the more I felt this keen sense that this is where I was supposed to be and what I was supposed to be doing. It was amazing that as I fell into the silence, I noticed how loud everyone else was. So much talking, so much noise, sometimes there is so little listening...
I stayed overnight on Friday, but felt worse and worse. On Saturday morning all the retreatants arrived and I stayed in my mummy bag, wallowing in my sickness. I'm sure that I would have sounded pathetic, except no one could hear me, because if I thought I had no voice on Friday, then it was twice as bad on Saturday. Our diocesan youth director basically told me to go home because there was a bad storm forecasted. I started to pack up my things, but I didn't feel peace with leaving, and then I felt the nudge to go pray in the Wheat Chapel. This is where everything changed.
My good friends Willa Cool and Stevie Rea were in there and they prayed over me. Willa started saying that I was there to experience a death to myself and to pray for the kids on the retreat. I just cried because I knew that was it. So, I stayed...And I prayed...And I fell into the dying.
It felt like everything was being stripped away. I wrote about it a little bit before, but it is so stinkin' easy to find identity in what we do. As in "I'm the girl that sings and plays guitar", or "Great Talk, Krista" or "You're so good with the kids". You know, whatever it is, it's easy to find my self-assurance there. I felt like this tree with the bark being stripped off in layers. I wasn't going to be allowed the comforts of what I could do anymore. It was going to be the real me having to hash things out with my creator and to have a heart to be doing what He wanted, even if it wasn't what I had envisioned. Letting Go. Letting Go. Letting Go.
Remember, Saturday was "Die Day". It was a day of utter silence for me, and I felt like I really experienced death like never before. It was almost like maybe my heart was able to feel a little more like Jesus', because it sure didn't feel like my own. It was beating with the weight of the kid's needs, the pain of my own trappings, and feeling God in the middle of it all and yet, still to feel so alone...
The last thing I did before I went to bed on Saturday night was to pray. It went something like this. "God, I know you have me here for reasons beyond me, but if you want me to give my talk to the kids tomorrow, then I need a little help with this voice problem. If I wake up with no voice, I'll know what the answer is and I'm totally fine either way..."
I woke up on Sunday and I had a voice. Slightly scratchy, but I mean, I HAD A VOICE! I don't know, does this really happen? YES, it does, and it did, and I was in awe! I was in awe because of the timing. Sunday also happened to be my birthday and it was "Rise Day"! I felt my spirit bounding, leaping, skipping. I felt like, "okay, this is way bigger than me, but thanks that I get to experience it!" I truly felt that I was being resurrected right then and there. The joy of just being alive for another year, the feeling of being healed and so loved, the idea of pieces being put back together. The realization that death is necessary for resurrection!
I continued in my prayer for the youth on Sunday. I still felt that it was my purpose for being there, but now it was with confidence knowing that this God is so Alive and desiring to work in ways beyond what we can understand.
I am so thankful for this weekend. I am thankful that I was forced into the gift of silence. I am sure of the many changes that happened in the lives of the youth who were on the retreat, and I am sure that this is only the beginning!

O' Happy St. Patrick's Day!

March 17, 2006...
You know, this was the day I was supposed to be born on way back in the year of 1978 and I kind of always wished that I was, but I was 2 days late, so I always think of this as my "quasi" birthday, plus, I am Irish, so it really works out quite nicely!
I'm starting this blog today, March 17th - Two profound things have happened for me in the span of a few hours: I finally got to put in the order for my CD's and also I woke up this morning and I completely lost my voice (ironic, isn't it?).
So, being the introspective person that I am, I've been asking God today what this is supposed to symbolize for me, not having a voice, that is...Because you see, I am really frustrated that I cannot talk, sing, communicate really at all without going into some serious vocal angst. The most frustrating thing is that I'm supposed to be helping lead a retreat for the next three days with 72 high schoolers. I was going to be helping with music, give a witness talk, be a group leader etc and now none of that is going to happen. And I feel this need to perform those tasks and be there for the kids, and yet even as I say that, I feel this little tug like when a little kid pulls on the edge of your shirt to get your attention...It's been happening for a while, really...I think it's God...and I think maybe he's saying (If I may interpret for God), "hey Krista, can you just be with me in the silence for a little bit? Just sit down and quit thinking about how desperately the world will miss you and how important this CD is and what you're supposed to do next and all the clutter you've got going on. This stuff doesn't matter. How about we just hang out and play trucks for a while?" So, I've never played trucks with God, but I say this because my 2 year old nephew always is telling me about his trucks and wanting me to play and I pass him by way too much, you know, like I do God. So, I think what God is calling me to this weekend is a vow of silence and service at the retreat. It's Lent after all and I've been "lenting" in a very haphazard way and it's catching up to me.
So, I'll keep things posted. Never knew I might learn something from a little laringitis.