T.C. Slonaker's Blog, page 8

Who's Really the Bully?

It has been years since my son sat on my lap and cried. The fact that he was doing it now broke my heart. He was scared.  He was terrified by someone at school.  Who was the bully?

The principal.

I'm going to back up here before anyone misunderstands.  The school - teachers and principal - did exactly what they were supposed to do, and I am proud of them for that. If someone breaks a rule, I ALWAYS want the expected discipline to follow. Well, almost always. And even if I don't want it to happen, that doesn't mean it shouldn't happen.

Time to explain.

We have always had a house that was "gun-free." There are no real guns in our house; there are no fake guns in our house. The former is for safety; the latter is for posterity. Even in the days of Lego Star Wars, we reinforced that the characters only used blasters - make-believe weapons that only stunned people. When the kids asked why, we explained that life was very sacred, and it it wasn't ours to take away. We shouldn't joke around with it. 

After upteen classes on my way to elementary education degrees, I had learned a little about a child's reasoning. At younger ages, the permanence of death does not make sense to them, so we didn't feel we needed to go to the depths of the "once a person dies, they aren't coming back" conversation just yet.

I'm sure we aren't the only parents to have ever discussed this with our kids. AND YET. Kids have pretended with fake guns - be they sticks, toys, pop tarts, or fingers - since before my grandmother's stories, I'd bet. Where on earth they get these ideas, I can't say. (I never did it as a child, but then I am not a boy.)

Suddenly, because of the reality of tragedy, schools need to crack down and enforce those conversations about why we don't pretend with guns. They now need to evaluate every make believe as a viable threat (or not) to another student. Can you imagine all the pretend cowboys that could have been on trial 50 years ago? Even 20 years ago, as a camp counselor, I could have taken those Power Ranger Wanna Be's to court for putting plastic swords to my neck with today's rules.

Why was my son so upset? He was called to the carpet, so to speak, while playing his game and the severity of his actions was discussed with him by the principal. (In his school, there are normally 4 steps until you go to the principal. He has never been past step 1.) Possible consequences for his negligence of others' feelings about his game were laid out. I think I can accurately surmise that the boy felt sick at that point.

It was determined by the school that my 8-year-old son will likely not be running out to find assault weapons to carry to anyone's doorstep. I would concur with their decision, especially after hearing the punishment he decided to give himself after our talk. (The talk that my husband and I gave to him, by the way, lasted all of about 2 sentences. It was all he could take in the shame of his wrong-doing.)

I'm crying, not because the school made my child cry. I'm crying because the world we live in has required it of the school. I am sad for the people who have lost loved ones due to the misuse of guns. And I am sad for everyone who has to suffer for it.

But with all this sadness and crying, I am thankful that mine was the kind of problem that could be solved with a long hug. And I'm thankful for a little boy who will still let his problems disappear in my arms.

A Protestant's Experience with a New Pope

Leaving the mall yesterday, coffee in my hand, I walked quickly to my car. A few white snowflakes drifted by my eyes. Having been rather consumed the papal conclave, my immediate thought was, "I wonder if these are white ashes indicating a white smoke?"

I laughed to myself when I got in the car, at about 2:10, turned to the news radio station, and heard the wild applause.  I knew what it meant, and it was all I could do not to start beeping my car horn to help them celebrate. Just five minutes or so prior, white ashes were indeed floating around St. Peter's Square.

I sat in traffic on the way home with butterflies in my stomach, waiting for the new pope to be announced.  It took FOREVER! (about an hour, but it seemed so long, because they kept saying he would come out in about 10 minutes.)

Nervous.  Why was I so nervous? I'm not Catholic.

"The Pope is for everybody," I have heard said many times before. I used to scoff, thinking how nice it was of these folks to share, but I didn't want any.

But now, I think I might be starting to get it a little.  I am not Catholic, but I am part of the catholic church.  In the sense I am using, "catholic" (the one with the lower-case "c") means "broad" or "wide-spread." Catholicism is a part of the Christian catholic church, and so am I.

I have one unshakable belief: Jesus Christ, Son of God died in my place to atone for my sins. He did that because He and the Father, who are One, love me and have given me that gift to spend eternity with them in Heaven. There is no other Way.

If you call yourself a Christian, hopefully that is what you believe as well. If you are Catholic, you probably call yourself Christian as well, and that would make you my brother or sister in Christ.  I rejoice with you.

So, who is the Pope to me? Hard to say, as it is not my church. That's how I see him -- as the leader of the Catholic church. I attend a church with a phenomenal pastor.  He preaches the Word of God as absolute Truth, and he practices the love of Christ to all of his sheep.

I am excited because another Christian church is getting a leader who appears (from what I have seen) to have a similar loving expression for those in his enormous fold. I love the "idea" surrounding Pope Francis, that of simplicity and poverty. He appears to champion humility, a Biblical principle that the Son of Man demonstrated when he washed the feet of even the man who was going to betray him. He has a heart for the poor, which was also something we saw as Jesus found abandoned lepers to heal, and even a man who lived in a pig's wallow. 

I like him.  I have no idea what the hope is for his policies and such. There is plenty in the Catholic church that I do not necessarily agree with. I'll steer clear of all that discussion. But the bottom line is that members of a Christian church need to represent Christ. They should have a leader to show them what it looks like.

There has been talk about walls coming down because he is not European.  But I hope that when Pope Francis was selected, the Cardinals weren't thinking about that.  I hope they were looking at his heart and choosing who they thought God had ordained to lead this church.

I ask God to bless the new pope, Pope Francis I.

A Humbled Grammar Nazi

This is for all my writing friends out there.  I am writing because I love you.  Now, you better get your big girl (or big boy) pants on, because what I have have to say might sting.

Here's a little piece of my writing background.  Once I had written my first novel, I began to send it to publishers and agents in hopes of finding someone to take on my project. After 19 rejections, I began to see that if I wanted to see this work in print, I might have to do it myself.

When I made the decision to self-publish, I knew my work needed to be looked over.  You know.  For the little things I may have missed like missing commas or forgotten capitals.  Because nothing is more frustrating than reading a book and finding a typo, right?

After all, how bad could it be?  In high school, I took AP English and passed the exam. I did so well on my college placement boards that I placed out of taking any composition classes at all. So, yes.  That means it had been 20 years since I was a student of English. But the language hadn't changed any, so I was sure I was fine.

I had even been a teacher of English - as high as 6th grade, mind you.  And all that stuff was still pretty familiar. Many people hate me for constantly reminding them of which "your" is needed.

So I formed a group of my friends to be "betas" and tasked them with finding my little typos. They hadn't gotten very far when, I am convinced, God sat upon His throne, shaking His head, saying, "Oh no.  She's really going to do it.  She is going to try to represent me with a book that looks like that."

Harsh, you say? I wish I could show you the compilation of edits made to the very first chapter of my "masterpiece." The work I had poured over.  And over. And over again.  

I wasn't going to catch my mistakes, because I didn't know what I was doing wrong.

So, God set the wheels in motion, stopping me from my adventure into self-publication and finding a publisher willing to work with me. Since I had been nervous diving into publishing my book with no knowledge of the publishing world whatsoever, I jumped at the chance to have a professional do it for me.

After all the contract signing, copyrighting, and other business about which I was clueless was finished, I leaped into the next phase of editing.

O. M. Gosh. I felt like a first grader, who just learned to read, being taught (patiently) all the rules of composition that I either never knew or was choosing to ignore for the sake of voice. (I learned later that voice didn't have to break rules and look ugly.  There were better ways to achieve it.)

My editor taught me what felt like years' worth of proper grammar, syntax, style, and story-telling. I wish I could list it all! Actually, I have been compiling a list of my biggest mistakes.  I use it as a check-off list as I proofread my other novels. It is an on-going list, because sadly, I know there is plenty more to learn.

The result was a book that I was not embarrassed to sell. I probably wouldn't have been embarrassed to sell it before the editing, but I should have been!

Okay, writers, what are you taking away from this? I'm not putting you down if you have selected the self-publishing route, especially if that was the way you wanted to go in the first place.  However, if you are only self-publishing because your work has been rejected numerous times by traditional publishers and agents, I would suggest looking into finding a professional editor.  A publisher might be too busy to tell you that his pet peeve is when someone starts a sentence off with the word, "But," but an editor will fix it so you can experience a valued look from the publisher.

I haven't made it as an author, if "making it" counts as selling more than 13 books. So, my opinion might not matter all that much. But as a reader, I will tell you that I do not want to waste my time on a book that is not well-written.  Please give me your best.

My Hands - Beautiful or Ugly?

I just got back from taking the 3rd cat to the vet. None of these cats are declawed. And none of them like to go in the cat carrier. It was quite a struggle.  Ouch.

Not only are the scratches painful, but they are ugly, too.  Yes, I am that vain.  Sorry. I look forward to summertime tanning of my skin. Such things as scratches and scars become less noticeable against a darker background. 

Darkness covers so many flaws.  I guess that's why we all strive for it these days. (Tanner skin, anyway.) And it seems I have so many flaws to hide!  I've given up on my knees.  Softball scars there are bound for permanence.

But we aren't talking knees  today. Few people go looking at knees.  (And if they do, I would steer clear of them.)  When you first meet someone, they probably - hopefully - notice you from the neck up.  But what is the next thing you do?  Shake hands.  And you don't often look at those hands, but you feel them, which could lead to looking.  It is never inappropriate to look at someone's hands, I think.

What would you see if you looked at my hands?  Go ahead.  Those are my hands in the picture, and I give you permission to look (though you might not be able to get a good analysis from this poor shot.)  This is what might stick out:
Scratches.  Thank you Jedi, Reeses, and Ava!Dry skin flaking off. From washing my dishes and washing my hands.  All this cleanliness should hopefully reduce the amount of illness that travels through our home.Chipping nail polish. With 3 vet appointment, 2 teacher conferences, and 4 hair appointments this week, I have had 0 time to keep up with little things like pretty nails.Tendons beginning to protrude.  Old age, I think.
But what is prominent in the picture?  What is the first thing your eyes go to?  

Hopefully, it's my wedding rings. That's the way I would hope it would be.  

Don't look at how my skin has been pulled apart and torn by others when I tried to force my way on them. Don't look at my coarse attempts to fight off what inevitably comes through the door with children in the winter. Don't look at my failed effort to cover nature with cosmetics. And please don't look at how far I am aging. Instead, look at the truly natural, beautiful, sparkly thing of great value in the center of it all.

It wasn't my husband's ambition when he proposed to me to hide the ugliness of my hands.  Neither was it his goal to mark me as his.  (Though he was successful at both.) I think what he wanted to do was give me all he could to show me that he would love me as long as that ring lasts.  And as you know, it is pretty much impossible to destroy a diamond. So, he was talking about forever.

Interesting.  I have an analogy.

There's another ring that surrounds my life, with brilliance in the center of it all.  And He was given to me by Someone else with all the love He had.

When God looks at me now, He doesn't see how my life has been torn up by insisting on my wills and desires.  He doesn't see how I fail sometimes at  washing away the sin in my life, and how repeated attempts at doing so are wearing me down. He doesn't see how I try to do good and beautiful works to make myself appear holier than I really am.  And He doesn't see how far my body is aging, because to die is the gain of our ultimate togetherness. 


It's still there, the ugliness in my life.  But He doesn't see it for shining, perfect brilliance of my Rock. Even though He knows it's all there, in love, He chooses to overlook it and see Something Else. He sees the perfect and beautiful Christ that I have accepted in my life.


Nothing the Father could have given me has more value than His Son. I am as honored to accept that Gift from Him as a fiancee receiving her engagement ring. And I think when He looks at Christ in my life, He couldn't be more pleased to call me His.

So go ahead and look at my hands. Call them ugly, call them beautiful.  Whatever, I don't care.  They are covered with the value I could never achieve on my own. And they belong to Him.

Warm Bed, Cold World - How to Get Up in the Morning

I believe the temperature outside right now, on this February morning, is hovering around 32º. How do I know? Because the rain outside switches between liquid rain and frozen rain periodically.  (Something my older daughter and I have termed, "snizzling," a cross between drizzle and snow.)

No one wants to go outside in that mess. (I could be wrong, there might be some labradors who love this kind of thing.)  Seeing it from your bedroom window, you might start wondering how important it really is to go out and run errands today, or if today might be a good time to ask your boss again about the possibility of working from home.

I recently bought some new sheets for our bed that are "plush." Honestly, I hate crawling into bed at night and shivering until my body heat warms the bed up enough to sleep.  These new sheets bypass that step, and actually encourage me to jump right into bed at night.

You know the consequence already, don't you? I don't want to leave that cozy haven. My problem is not unusual, as the morning comments on Facebook are often related to the many other folks wishing to be back in their own cozy havens too. Yet, every day we do it.  Get out of bed, and then complain about it.

So here I am to save the day! (Cue Mighty Mouse music.)  Okay, maybe just your morning.  Below are my tips for an easier way to get out of bed in the morning:

Get Enough Sleep-  The reason most people don't want to get out of bed is probably not because of the comfy bed, but because they are still tired. You might want to get this extra sleep in the morning, but practically speaking, that may not be possible.  Give yourself a bedtime.  It might be earlier than you want to go to bed - missing a TV show or foregoing time to read - but your body will thank you throughout the next day. Set your TiVo and read at lunch time instead. Set Up a Quick Routine to Do In Bed Before Getting Out-  Trick your mind.  Start your routine immediately, so your body feels like it must keep going.  My favorite is to say a morning prayer.  When it is finished, you go onto the next thing in your morning routine, which is getting up and... (getting dressed, brushing teeth, whatever.  As long is it starts with getting up!)  Other tricks might be planning your day's clothing, figuring out the day's meals, or remembering what out-of-the-ordinary events are taking place today. Or you could do some stretching.
Have a Reason to WANT to Get Out of Bed- No, this doesn't mean switching to scratchy sheets so you can't wait to get out of bed.  That will disrupt your sleep, and poor sleep will not make you want to get up. But start thinking about that delicious morning cup of coffee or how hungry you are for breakfast.  (Yeah, my incentives usually revolve around food.) Maybe you are meeting a friend today and can't wait to get ready for that. Can't wait to pet the cat?  Fine.  It works.  You love putting on your slippers?  Have a new outfit today?  Want to see you was sent home from Dancing With The Stars last night?  Have a funny Facebook status to post?  Anything you are looking forward to, make it a motivator to get out of bed. If you can't find anything, see #6.
Keep a Clock in View-  Time never goes so fast as when you are avoiding getting out of bed.  If no one else is in the room, your clock can keep you accountable.  Silent minutes ticking away in bed are minutes you are not drinking your coffee.
Have Children-   If they are small, they will get out out of bed, sometimes physically, whether you like it or not.  If they are older, you may need to be responsible to help them get ready for school.  If nothing else, their quiet presence lets you know they are up to something, and you had better find out what it is.Make Sure the Problem Isn't Just the Bed- If you can't find any reason at all to get out of bed, you need to talk to a doctor.  Our God is a good God and His mercies are new every morning.  That means everyday is a fresh start.  If you are waking up with the past holding down, you may need help getting it off of you.  Medicine, counseling, prayer, friends - can all be helpful and put you in the right direction.


Warm blankets are great.  But so is sunshine on your face.  Here's to a great day, and congratulations for making it out of bed today!  Here's hoping tomorrow will be a little easier for you.

"Mom, when we're rich..."

I don't think I even heard the end of my child's question.  Perhaps I cut her off.  I had to explain to her that she wasn't facing reality, and it was time to learn why I do what I do.

First I had to let her understand why her thinking was askew.  She knew it was a big deal for me to be published.  She didn't know that, for me, it only affirmed that what I wrote had merit.

The authors she had envisioned were the ones she heard about on the news, who were indeed millionaires, J.K. Rowling, Stephan King, etc.  How many other authors  wrote books in the library who were not the famous people on the news?

Too many to count.

And they are not my co-workers, they are my competition.  I tried to explain it this way.  My daughter plays soccer.  She loves it, but is on the "C-level" team. Chances of her becoming a famous soccer player aren't great.  (I don't say that to be mean.  By all means, she can work hard and get better.) Even if she were an A-level player, the next step would be beating out all the other girls for a spot on the school team.  Then, she would have to beat all the school teammates for a college scholarship.   From the college picks, she would have to stand out to a pro scout.  (I don't even know if there is a professional level woman's soccer league, but just saying.)  And then, she would have to stand out among her teammates there to be recognized by the public as one of the great ones.  Many steps to soccer fame.

And I explained that even if she never made it to the next level, she would probably keep on playing soccer because she loved to play.

Then I explained to her how "rich" we could be this year.  Due to the percent of royalties I earn, if I sold 200 books (guessing that I could include the second book in this lot) this quarter, after taxes and tithes, I would net about $30.

That was absolutely shocking to all my kids.  We know people who are not rich who make that much in an hour. The kids could pick out video games they want that cost more than that.

And they know I have put in wayyyyy more than an hour's worth of work on my books.  The next question was obvious.

"So then, Mom?  Why are you writing these books?"

The answer was hard to put into words.  While I was thinking, my son started for me, "Because she likes it.  Duh!"

Yes, that is part of it.  It is an awesome feeling to have complete control over the lives of people and even worlds I have created. I like making up characters.  I like putting them in trouble and then trying to figure a way out of it.  I like having a way to be dramatic.  My personal life has no real life-or-death situations, but I face them everyday in my books. My children don't always listen to me, but my characters have no choice.

But if that were the only reason I wrote my books, I would never have started the painful task of trying to find a publisher.

My books have a message.  I didn't want to start writing without a purpose, and there is only one purpose I feel is worth sharing - spreading the Gospel.  I was a youth group leader in my recent past, and a youth group member in my more distant past.  I know that young people listen best to what is interesting.  So I asked God to help me find a way to talk to them that was interesting.


I starting writing the Angelmen series because I wanted a new parable.  I wanted another way to show kids what God's love could look like.  So, I created a new race of people and showed a parallel plight.  (OK, I didn't create them. God created them, and they really did exist.  But since I believe they were wiped out long ago, it is completely fictional to have such characters today.)  And each book brings Truth from the Bible into hands of my readers.


Would I love to see my books turn into movies?  Heck yeah!  Because it would make me rich?  No, for the people it could reach.  Would I love to stand up in front of an auditorium full of listening young people?  Yes.  (I am strangely blessed to not mind talking in front of large groups of people.) Why?  So I could tell them the message.

You don't write unless you have something to say.  If you do, it is best to just keep it to yourself.

Why I Hate Twitter, But Need to Use It

One hundred forty characters.  That should be easy, shouldn't it?

When I go on Facebook, I type out my every thought, rarely, but sometimes using a filter.  (Friends of mine will notice I have been posting significantly less since my book came out.  And now that football season is over, Sunday posts will drop significantly too.)

Facebook is Grandma. You go to Grandma's house and blab your heart out.  She gave you a plate of cookies, so you know she is just there to listen to you and fatten you up.  She feeds your belly and your need to be heard without being judged.  (Because all you have on Facebook are your "friends."  If someone does not feed your soul, delete their friendship with one click of the mouse!)

Twitter is the automated customer service option on the phone.  "Please select from the following options.  For English, please press or say '1'..."  We all hate them, don't we?  We want to pick up the phone, have a person answer us with no wait and say, "What can I help you with today, sweetheart? Want a cookie?" Then we can open up and cry out the problem we have with our vacuum cleaner.  Some companies are aware of this need and require their reps to say something empathetic like, "I can see how it bothers you that your device has blown up.  Let me see what I can do to help you." But you know that means they will transfer you.  But I digress.

Why is Twitter like that automated phone system?  "Please press one..." to me may as well be "You can only say what I decide you can say."  or "I can only help you in so many areas."  Whereas on Facebook, you can blab away, Twitter says, "You can say whatever you want.  As long as it fits *my* criteria." That criteria is about 1.5 sentences.  Sure you can tweet several tweets in a row, but if someone else gets in between there, you are all messed up.  AND, you have to remember that lines flow linearly in time, so you have to start with your last tweet first, and that means you have to know how many sentences you want altogether, and hope you don't forget one in between, and type fast enough to get them all out.... I am stressed just thinking about it.
Add to that my lovely OCD tendency of only using even numbers.  (Don't ask.  Just don't ask.  Okay, you can ask, if you need to).  Facebook does not tell you how much you have written.  (Though some of your friends might.  See above about un-friending.) Facebook remembers that Love keeps no record of wrongs.
Twitter tells you exactly how many characters you have used.  Oh gosh, I have to make it an even number of characters or else I have to rewrite.  And do you KNOW how much I like to rewrite?  On top of that, Twitter keeps track of how many tweets you have posted, how many followers you have and how many people are following you.  I have actually posted things like, "This is just my OCD tweet," and "Please tell your friends to follow me so I can have an even number of followers."  Yes, I have deleted people to follow too. 
Since it drives me crazy, why do I need it?
Apparently, a lot happens on Twitter.  As much as the organization of it drives me nuts, it is also the organization of it that saves me work as well.  Mostly, people are not on Twitter to be your friend but to see what interests you share.  Twitter is not Grandma, but sometimes you need to go to work and get stuff done.  One Twitter, I can talk directly to book people, running people, football people, or Bible people, all while not disturbing the rest of the world.
And when I reach the right people, have even numbers of tweets, followers, and followings, I can sit back and relax.  Maybe I'll eat a cookie and tell Grandma about it.
PS - if you want to follow me on Twitter, please do!  But only if you get a friend to do it to.  ;)

What I Am Sacrificing

Here is a muse.  Or a whine.  But let's try to stay positive.  It's a thought.

Because sacrifice, though difficult, is always for the greater good.

This time last year, I had finished writing a few of my books, and I wasn't sure which direction I wanted to pursue next.  I had sent out queries to many publishers, and they had almost all come back denied.  (The ones that hadn't come back at all, I also assumed were denied.  Though I was wrong about one of them...)

Was I going to continue to wait for someone who knew what they were doing to accept my work, or was I going to self-publish.  I hadn't decided yet.  So in the meantime, I found a diversion.  Reading.

It might seem to you that an author doing some reading is as logical as a fish going for a swim.  Those who really know me know that reading has never been my thing.  I was always the slowest reader in my class.  I will never forget timed reading tests in 8th grade when the teacher would ask, "Is everyone done now?"  Of course everyone was, it had been an insanely long amount of time.  Everyone was done, but me.  And that put a bad taste in my mouth for reading.  I just could never finish quickly enough!

Things changed as an adult.  There were no more time limits.  I sat at home, as a stay-at-home mom, in my comfy chair, with more time than I realized.  So, I hauled my 4-year-old to the library, week after week, checking out movies for her to keep her entertained while I would take out three books at a time of my own choosing.

I found a favorite author - Richard Paul Evans - whose works were short, different, and very addicting.  This time last year, I sat in my comfy chair by the big window in the living room, with cats on my lap, and read.  Today, I can gleeful say my second novel is already in the works to come out soon.

But instead of sitting here, getting lost in someone else world, wondering if she will or if she won't accept the flowers from the strange man, or if Mom will find out the secret in the tent, I am in a different world.  The world is one I have created.  I know the answers.  I know the end of the story.  What I am trying to do now is tug at my brain to find the exact adjective that describes that smile.  I am trying to explain how it feels to die, when I have never done it myself.  (Neither have you though, so you'll never know how accurate I am!)  I am trying to decide if I need to break for a new paragraph or a new chapter. And Lord help me, what do I NAME that chapter that will make you need to read it, give you an idea what is going to happen but not reveal too much. 
In 75 characters or less.
 
I missing guessing.  I miss being surprised. I miss hunting down another book.  I miss crying in the shower.  I miss driving in the car wondering how things continued for the character after it ended. Writers should be reading, and when I have time, I will delve into the many Kindle books I have waiting for me.  But first things are first, and I need to take care of my audience.

Would I trade it?  The writing for the reading?  Not in a million years.  These characters, settings, plots I have made are my babies.  I created them.  Another author (King, perhaps?  I forget.) calls them darlings.  And just like when you have children, you have to make a few sacrifices while they are growing.  My characters and plots are still growing in my head.  If I neglect to let them out onto the computer, they could die and never be found again (so thick is the sludge of information in my brain).  

One day, they will be fully grown, and set free in my books.  I will gladly kick them out, as they have spent too much time in my brain as it is.  And they will be all yours to play with.  Then, I will pick up someone else's book and nurture their characters for a little while.

How to Get Up Out of Your Chair And Exercise

First of all, I would like to point out that, yes indeed, I have changed the name of this blog.  It is called Passion Under Grace because I am passionate about many things, and right or wrong, I am covered by God's grace.  You can feel free to agree with me or disagree, but either way, I know I am forgiven.

One thing I am passionate about is exercise.  Since becoming an adult, running has been my way of still being able to eat ice cream and not feel guilty abut it.  But it became more than that. The old competitive spirit I nurtured as a kid resurfaced.  I wasn't just running, I was trying to be better than I was yesterday.  I set a lifetime goal of running a half-marathon and crossed it off my list in 2010.  Not willing to dedicate the time needed to train for a full marathon, I am stuck wondering what to do next.  

While in this limbo, I am not stopping.  Blindly, I use that old Nike creed, "Just Do It."  I have no other reason.  But neither do I have a reason to stop.  Unless I have a good reason not to, I get out for a work out on my designated days.  The list of reasons "not to" is pretty short.  Today's temperature was 18ºF, with a wind chill in single digits.  And I have no car today.  So, I ran to the gym and rode a bike while I was there.  I am glad I did.  I feel awful when I give up on myself.

So how about you?  Looking for motivation?  Many times, I just don't want to go out.  I don't really love running.  And sometimes, I am just too comfortable to get up.  But I do it anyway.  And here's how I do it when I don't feel like it, in case you need to borrow any of these reasons.

Music - I usually don't let myself get sick of the music I listen to during workouts.  (If I do, then I get some new tunes!)  If I only listen to a certain playlist during my workouts, I can look forward to getting to hear that music. Coffee -  Sometimes I am just tired and lazy.  If I drink some coffee before I go out, I just can't stay sitting!  (But I choose the trail that has the better bathrooms. Remember Why -  I run to feel good.  I love those endorphins and norepinephorins and all that good stuff. I also like the feeling of ice cream in my mouth. This is why I run. Remember Why Not -  It is easy to say, "I don't feel like it today, I'll do it tomorrow." But check that. Maybe tomorrow is packed and you won't have time. Maybe you feel like you are coming down with something, and you might feel worse tomorrow.  (Sometimes a good workout before a cold sets in gets your healthy blood pumping enough to kick that cold to the corner.) That's another reason that if I can do it, I will do it.  If I miss a whole week, then it is like starting all over when I get back into it. Finish Up! -  Every day I make a list of things to do.  I always add exercise.  If I don't do it, I don't get to cross it off.  And that kills me to leave something undone in a day.

That is how I stay motivated to work out.  I just don't allow myself much wiggle room.  I'm not a pro athlete; this isn't my job.  So I have to do it for some other reason.  If I keep at it, maybe I won't need a reason at all.  How about you?  What gets you up and out?

Are You Kidding Me?

Are you kidding me? Yes you are. The whole world is “kidding” me. By that, I mean, the whole world is sending me their kids.

I was sitting in a kiddie pool, as were many other moms, somewhere in Hershey Park, and a couple of little girls swam over and started a conversation with me. They told me later, they assumed I was a teacher at their school.

As I write this, I am sitting at Chick Fil A, by a window to the play area so I can keep an eye on my own daughter. She is nowhere to be found, but there is a line of 3- and 4- year olds on the padded bench knocking on the window and waving to me. I own none of these children and their moms are all laughing at me, thinking I might consider taking them all home. Ha!

Really, I don't know what it is. I was once a teacher and have taught everything from Sunday school to public school to summer camp, from ages 3, through high school. So, it could be possible I have taught them, or more likely, their parents. (No, older brothers and sisters!) But it is not likely.

Where are these kids coming from?

Okay, I do not mean this to “toot my own horn,” but maybe to offer a challenge. Smiling is my natural defense. If I am ever attacked, I think my body automatically thinks I will befriend the enemy so that they will want to be my friend and not eat me. The Lord has kept me safe from wild animals that might take advantage of this.

But is it really a bad thing?

Well, other than a following of unfamilar ankle-biters, life could be worse. I don't have to feed them. Just give them a reason to think they are worth a smile today. Aren't they? Give it a try and see what it does for your life.