Saturday, March 10, 2012

Pitter Patter

The other morning I heard the little pitter-patter of feet coming down the steps.  I glanced at the clock--6:05 AM???  What???  No one was due to get up for another hour.  I sighed deeply as I realized my uninterrupted quiet time was about to get interrupted.  The Big O walked in, rubbing his eyes, saying he was 'hungy'.  I wasn't surprised, as he had not appreciated our lunch and dinner menu the day before.  First I told him he couldn't get up yet and that he needed to go back to bed.  Even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew that it wasn't going to happen.  No, such attempts never work.  I am not even sure why I tried it.  Thinking about the hunger pangs that must have awakened him, motherly guilt replaced my own pursuits and I poured him a bowl of cereal.

Then I heard more pitter-patter... What in the world???  Another early bird???  I turned to see who the culprit could be and was met with a little pair of legs carrying a large pile of clothing.  Held to the gill were baseball pants, shirts, socks, belts and hats.  I suppressed a smile as the J-man dropped the load down in front of me--the load of new uniforms that he had received at baseball practice the night before.  As it had been too late for him to try them on when he'd gotten home, we had promised him he could try them on this morning.  It reminded me of the time he came into our room at 3:00 in the morning before his first t-ball game, dressed and ready to go.  Guess I should be glad that he hadn't gotten up any earlier this morning.

His eyes shone with the anticipation of trying on all his gear as I stared at the mound of uniforms and wondered where the days had gone when one uniform was more than enough?  Where were the days when rec leagues were more than enough and competitive leagues hadn't gobbled up the simple life?  I would have never thought we would have had a seven-year-old on such a team, yet it was inevitable, I suppose in a boy-filled baseball-crazed home.  Inevitable for a seven-year-old that had spent all last year tagging along at his ten-year-old's brother's competitive games.  Inevitable, that eventually you have to make the switch and play the game by the newly-acquired rules.

I had to admit, it was hard not to get caught up in my little man's excitement.  For the next hour, my proud seven-year-old tried on every one of his three uniforms for me, not once, but TWICE.  He told me a total of ten times about the scrimmage and games that were coming up, what time they were at and where they were going to be.  He had myself and the O vote for our favorite uniform.  We discussed #32 and how he wasn't that crazy about it but that it was Uncle Trent's favorite player on the Red's so it couldn't be all that bad.  We discussed ankle pants vs. knee pants.

Other discussions took place in my head.  Stress mounted as my mind was pelted with questions like, 'What if he shows up to a game wearing the wrong uniform?  What if we can't find his blue shirt on blue uniform day?  What if the washer eats one of those brightly colored socks?  What if my extremely absent minded seven-year-old leaves one of those hats clear across town at the McDonald's playland?'  

...What if... 

Then the what ifs were squashed with the realization that my born-organized husband had taken care of such details like a well oiled machine during last year's baseball season for my ten-year-old.  He could handle it.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, the O stood on the sidelines--all starry-eyed--filled with great awe and admiration.  I could understand O's infatuation.  I too, was mesmerized by my no-bigger-than-a-minute seven-year-old.  Sure, three uniforms still seemed a bit much to this practical-minded mom, yet I couldn't help being completely impressed and in love with my little guy's newly acquired threads.



The pitter patter of baseball season...a little boy in pinstriped pants with hat engulfing...a heart swelling and overflowing with the pride of being a part of a team...smiling from ear to ear.  Beginning with the pitter patter of little feet and ending with the pitter patter of a mama's heart taking it all in.


So much more than a Kodak moment...but for now it'll have to suffice...  

and in a month I'll let you know how our laundry bill is holding up.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

The Big O Turns Five!


Our youngest we call the 'Big O',
When angry he sure lets us know!
Shirtless and carefree,
And always 'hungy',
His best buddy, hands down, is big bro'!


Top Five on Five:
  1. The way you call me 'mama'
  2. I love your dimples
  3. You give the best hugs in the world
  4. Your friendship with Jeremiah makes my heart swell
  5. How thankful you are for the littlest things

So glad the O Factor is a part of our lives.  Our family would be incomplete without him.
Happy Birthday buddy.  We love you!



Friday, February 17, 2012

Remembering

I opened my eyes this morning and remembered--the anniversary of my mom's death.  As I went through my Bible study, I remembered.  Helping my ten-year-old work a long division problem--I remembered--and it brought tears afresh.  My daughter hugging me as she remembered this day without needing to be told, tears again.  A text from a friend, an email, a facebook message brought still more remembrance and more tears.  Remembering is difficult and hard and yet at the same time so very necessary.

This morning, having difficulty concentrating on reading, I decided to watch a video from my Bible study that I had missed from an earlier week.  Ironic, but of no surprise to God, the premise of this video hinged on James 1:2:  

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds.

Pure joy during trials...what???  That sounds like an oxymoron.

But it's anything but.


You see, that word, joy had a whole lot to do with getting me through the death of my mom.  It welled up deep inside of me from a supernatural source and kept me going during those fresh, raw days. It came from the Lord and it was my strength.  It was not of me.  I alone couldn't have produced that kind of emotion that was full of  peace and hope.  And lest you get the wrong picture, it wasn't a rosy 'all is well', yippee kind of joy.  No, it was this ever present, strong cord in the back ground of my being, giving me the ability to keep on, keeping on.  And it had the strange ability to co-exist with the anguish of loss.  The 1828 Webster's Dictionary defines anguish as:
Extreme pain, either of body or mind.  As bodily pain, it may differ from agony, which is such distress of the whole body as to cause contortion, whereas anguish may be a local pain as of an ulcer, or gout.  But anguish and agony are nearly synonymous.  As pain of the mind, it signifies any keen distress from sorrow, remorse, despair and kindred passions.
Amazing how you can be experiencing a terrible tragedy, yet in the midst of it God can shower you with His joy. It's contradiction with a capital C. And it's definitely not natural--no, it's supernatural...and nothing short of a miracle.

Remembering today...the memories--some hard, some sweet, some full of regret, some not--and I am thankful.  Thankful for the gift of remembering.  Thankful for the gift of a God that cares enough to carry me through life's heartaches...a God that is so personal and loving that He will show up in a Bible study video with just the right message at just the right time.  Lovingly reminding my easily-drifting mind that He too, remembers.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Love Covers a Multitude of Sins

As we navigate through these parenting years, I am often burdened/overwhelmed/grieved by the sin I see well up in our children, especially our older ones.  Such feelings inevitably then lead to grievance regarding similar sins I find  in myself and Eric, as the apple doesn't fall far from the cart.

One morning last week as I was running, I was particularly burdened for my children in regards to less than desirable actions and attitudes I had been seeing.  I was also feeling a bit panicked about the teenage years that loomed in front of us and the difficulty of navigating through all the issues that come with our culture these days.  I felt tired, overtaken and weak--exactly the way a fish must feel swimming upstream.  I spent most of the run asking for forgiveness for falling short in so many areas, asking for grace to cover our weaknesses, asking for wisdom to be Godly parents, and asking for divine intervention in the lives of our children.

That day I felt pretty desperate.  Do you ever feel that way, so zeroed in on the yuck that you are seeing that you are having a hard time seeing any good?  Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed at a situation and so at a loss of words, that my prayers tend to be a few phrases repeated over and over.  On this day I just kept repeating:

'Lord, we need you, please help...Your grace is sufficient for our weakness, please be strong where we are weak...Love covers a multitude of sins...please let your love flow in and cover the multitude of sins you see in us and our children.'

As I finished that run and those prayers, the Lord did not provide immediate answers, or some big revelation, but He did impress one thing upon me:


Keep praying, keep praying, keep praying...the most you can do for your children during these years is intercede for them.

I have yet to witness a time that the Lord doesn't show up after a desperate prayer.  Now, He may not answer the prayer in a way that  we see fit, but He always shows up.  Always.


This time was no exception.  As I went through the rest of my day and the rest of my week, I felt His presence.  I felt His grace, covering me and helping me in my weaknesses.  And I saw Him move and answer the prayers of a desperate mother in small, tangible ways.

For one, I saw my daughter, who struggles with doing her schoolwork thoroughly and completely, win a small victory in this area.  As I saw her achieve and overcome, I saw God sanctifying.  I was reminded that sanctification comes little step by little step, and my job when I see such victories is to applaud and encourage.

The sweetest gift of all, though, was how the Lord chose to show up among my youngest and oldest.  You see, these two mix like oil and water.  My oldest, Joshua, a natural born leader who thrives in a well-ordered world has little patience for our last born who is the king of chaos.  His impatience and irritability with our four year old, Owen, was one of those areas I had been desperately praying over.

...Yet God moves and melts hard places in the most creative, unexpected ways...


Owen spent one afternoon last week making valentines with his grandmother.  When we went to pick him up, he proudly sauntered out with his masterpieces.  He walked about our van handing out his labor of loves and each of us exclaimed how wonderful it was.  All, that is, but my oldest.  My heart sank as he tucked his in his book and I wondered frustratingly, 'Why aren't you opening yours?'

But God had a different plan with different timing.


It was a significant moment that needed a more intimate environment than that of riding in a van down the road.  It was a significant moment that needed to include our entire family.

Thus, as we conjugated before dinner, Joshua pulled out his valentine from Owen:


Owen and Josh  
Two names listed together in the innocent writing of a four year old.  



Good Brother.  
Nothing else written and nothing else needed. 
Written in a grace-filled, forgiving squibble.

But the image on the back was the clincher:



The heart of a four-year-old finding and cutting out someone working out because he knows his big brother lives for work-outs.
The Supernatural working out the kinks in a relationship with something super-hilarious.

Using the irresistible, unconditional work of a four-year-old, innocently loving someone who didn't deserve it...

melting the hard in the most creative of ways


Walls came down, laughter replaced bitterness and love covered a multitude of sins.

A mother's prayers answered...

                            ...a step forward...

And the Father whispered:

  Keep praying, keep praying, keep praying... 

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Happy Birthday to our Oldest!


So, we recently learned of a really fun tradition that a family we know does on each of their children's birthdays.  They make up a birthday limerick about that child and put it on their answering machine.  We wanted to adopt this tradition, but we don't have a home phone nor an answering machine.  But we do have this blog!

So, Joshua--this one's for you!  We love you so very much!
 
Josh Grogan, blonde-headed and tan,
He's always been focused and planned,
With well-balanced meals,
And repeat running drills,
We thank God for this gifted young man!


My due date was February 12.  And of course, Joshua was punctual, born right on time on February 12, 1998, at 8:56 in the morning.  Today, punctuality is still important to him.  He plans out his day to the nth degree and has a specific time for everything he does.  It is all thought out and well-planned, down to the very last detail.  

As a new-born, he got ruffled easily if his schedule and environment weren't just so-so.  He is still characterized by such today.  He likes things a certain way and can be a bit inflexible at times :) .

He lined up his animals and cars as a toddler, spending hours on the set up.  Today, he no longer lines up things, but oh, does he plan everything out to the very last detail.  Schedule-oriented, driven and focused--I love all these things that make him who he is.

He loves cross country and track--it is his passion.  I will be sharing a story about him and his running that happened this past fall--one of my very favorites...I'll write it when I can find a minute (which happens to not be now!) :)

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

My long-haired babe is Ten!

Our middle-born son is named Wes,
When asked to do chores he says, 'Yes',
Baseball is his game,
Yet running's his fame,
Mama WON'T cut his hair, I confess!


My Top Ten on the Tenth:
  1. The hair--what can I say?  I'm your mama and I have my priorities!
  2. Your big smile and the way it takes over your face
  3. Watching you run is one of my favorite things
  4. Watching you on the baseball field is one of my other favorite things
  5. Your quiet presence--it always has a way of making a 'presence', even though you aren't trying to
  6. That you can bust a move--again it's unexpected, which makes it all the more funny
  7. Your diligence and hardwork ethic you've inherited from your daddy and big bro'
  8. Can I just say shirtless and compression shorts?  The slimness makes me smile every time...oh, what I would give for one-tenth of that!
  9. Really proud of how hard you are working in school this year, especially how you have stuck it out in Math when it's been hard and how now you're starting to see the pay-off...love this about you!
  10. Your new found interest in the Racers and the fact that all you want for your birthday is MSU gear sure does make these alum-parents happy!
I could go on...the fact that you've conquered the Bop-it and made it to the 'master' level, your loyalty to your friends, your obedience factor...of course if I name these things, too, then I would be naming the 'Top 13' and this momma would be having a tougher time than she already is! ( and let's not go borrowing trouble....)

So instead, I will just relish today, this day when you are '10', remembering that special day ten years ago when your daddy had to be summoned by loud speaker in the hospital cafeteria because you decided to be born while he was in the middle of grabbing some lunch.

And it's been one sweet interruption after another ever since.

Ironically, ten years ago we had JUST moved here and JUST settled into Louisville...now on your tenth, your double-digit milestone, we are preparing to move to a new town...ten more years, Lord willing, of new memories and new adventures...

~A CELEBRATION OF 'TEN' ON A MULTITUDE OF LEVELS~

HAPPY BIRTHDAY WESSIE-BOY!  WE LOVE YOU SO!

Saturday, December 24, 2011

2011 Christmas Letter


Yes!  Finally--Finished!  Technical difficulties overcome!

Dear Friends,

Oh, how I am praying that God's Spirit will indwell my fingertips like never before and write this story. You see, this is His story--this journey we've been on, this 'ultra marathon' that we have lived, breathed and endured over the past year.  It's a glorious testament to His realness.  I am begging Him to knock me out of the way and to put pen to prose, to leave absolutely nothing out and give His story the justice it deserves.  So (deep breath), here we go...

2011.  We rang in the new year with a few of you.  Those of you there may have remembered the goofy video our family made as part of a white elephant gift.  I have to say, it was hysterically funny--I still get a stitch in my side thinking about it.  The video was poking fun at the fact that Eric had recently lost his job, a subject not very funny to say the least.  Yet we were coping with it the best we knew how, and one of those ways was to stay light-hearted about it and laugh as much as we could.  After all, laughter is the best medicine, right?  Little did we know, we were going to need to draw on that reservoir many times over 2011 and that reservoir was going to need to run deep.  But we were going to need more than surfacey laughter; we were going to have to dig deep into the well of Living Water and ask for joy.  This unemployed season was going to require an endurance of supernatural proportions and only the 'joy in all circumstances' that comes form Him and Him alone would be able to sustain us.

Let me back track a moment for a few of you whom may be in the dark.  In November, 2010, Eric lost his job.  Thus, we entered the Christmas season with a new and unfamiliar title--unemployed.  God led me to purchase a journal at this time to record all that we were going to experience in this season.  I vividly remember dragging my feet up to the check-out counter at Michael's and almost not buying it.  You see, I had a little nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach--that ominous sense that if I was going to purchase a journal than it was going to have to be filled with prose.  Prose of the difficult kind.  Ironically (yet of no surprise to God), the front of that journal was covered with the words 'Jump for Joy'.  Yes, He knew.  He knew we were going to need joy by the heapfuls and the only way to unlock the reservoir of unending joy was through praises of thanksgiving.  One of the first verses I memorized after becoming a Christian was 1 Thess. 5:19: 'be joyful always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances.'  God asks us to memorize His Word so that we can carry it with us wherever we are, coming to our aid whenever it's needed.  Over the following months, that verse, along with Nehemiah 8:10, 'the joy of the Lord is my strength', became the mantra of my mind, playing like a broken record over and over again--keeping me grounded, keeping me sane, but more than anything, giving me a supernatural 'fill-up' whenever I needed it.

With the beginning of a new year, we were hopeful.   Surely, a job would materialize before long, right?  Right, God?  Right?!?!  Unfortunately, God doesn't always answer our prayers with a 'yes'.  Sometimes He says 'no' and sometimes He says 'wait'.  Strangely, in the months to follow, every time I got frustrated with God's silent waiting room, the words of a song would immediately come to my mind:

'I beg your pardon; I never promised you a rose garden.'

I know, weird, right?  Those words may be from a song of a different era, but they are true, nonetheless.  God doesn't promise that things are always going to be rosy and perfect.  What He does offer, though, is His hand to hold onto tightly in the midst of the trial.

We prayed.  We hoped.  We thanked Him.  We prayed.  We hoped.  We praised Him.  All the while, Eric interviewed.  Yet, God said no to this job, and no to that job, while simultaneously extending His hand and providing for needs.  Need after need after need, He provided.  Journal entry after entry after entry, we recorded.

Then, as if on a divine timer, problems and breakdowns of epic proportions began occurring.  Murphy moved into our back bedroom and wasn't about to budge...not one inch.  I think many of you started calling us the Bad News Bears hehind our backs.  I wouldn't have blamed you.  It was true.  Yet it was all in His timing, because impossible situations are His specialty.  Gigantic problems set the stage for the grandest of entrances and He was about to make a scene, causing quite a stir that would leave no denial--absolutely no denial--that His involvement was all over this thing.

Enter problem numero uno.  Our washer died.  As much as a family of seven needs a functional washer, we felt clearly the Lord saying, 'Don't go buy a new one on credit.  Pray and wait'.  So we prayed and waited...and dragged ten loads of laundry to the Laundromat.  Fourteen days later, a friend just 'happened' to move into a new house where the prior owners just 'happened' to leave a washer.  And not any old washer, mind you.  The exact brand we would have bought had we went out and purchased a new one!  You bet we recorded that one!  Journal entry #64 to be exact.

Next, our sewage backed up into our home.  We had to move out of our house for four days AND figure out a way to come up with a couple of thousand to fix it.  Some suggested we borrow the money and get it fixed.  The washer still fresh on our mind, we were determined more than ever to rely on the Lord, pray, and wait...and to roll up our sleeves and do whatever we could ourselves to fix it.  Eric pulled together a team of faithful friends, rented a backhoe and began digging.  They dug until it got too dangerous.... We prayed.  We waited.  And wondered... Just as we were about to throw up our hands in surrender and put it on credit, a group of anonymous givers (many of them being you!) went in together and collected more than enough to fix it.  Recording Journal Entry #94, we were beyond humble and grateful.  Oh, but God wanted more glory than that.  Just as we were about to cut a check, the city informed us that it was their bill to pay.  Thus, they fixed it for free.  Journal Entry #95!  We were thrilled beyond reason!  We praised Him up and down!  Yet, we couldn't help but wonder why.  Why, God, did it end up costing nothing when you provided the funds to cover it?  Maybe because His foresight is 20/20...

...Because two weeks later our transmission blew.  Yep.  There we sat, on the side of the interstate with a busload of kids in tow.  Being responsible Triple A membership owners, we smugly pulled out our Triple A card and called them up to collect on our free tow.

'We're sorry,' they said, 'but your large van is over the weight limit for towing.  To get that service you need the upgraded 'RV membership'.'

'Can we upgrade??!!'

'No.  But we'll get you a tow back to Louisville for a mere $300...'

Crickets chirped in the background....along with all of the children complaining and whining, asking what we were going to do.  So I sent them down in the ditch to play on the side of the interstate.  We stood there, our heads spinning.  The weariness from the past several weeks began to turn to anger.  I WAS SO DONE--COMPLETELY DONE--and I was going to let God know it!  I stomped.  I cried.  I sulked.  I yelled.  I had a tantrum of the grandest sorts while those eighteen wheelers sped by.  And when I stopped to catch my breath, I heard ever so clearly and quietly:

'I beg your pardon.  I never promised you a rose garden...What I do promise, though, is to walk with you through the landfill.'

The part of me that is His knew that these words, as hard as they were to hear, were truth.  The part of me that is pulled by, taunted, and anchored to this world and luring promises continued sulking.  That battle between flesh and Spirit raged for the next few days...until one morning in sweet surrender I finally stretched out that hand.  And a supernatural 'fill-up' of the tenderest kind occurred, resulting in His peace, His joy and His strength despite the present circumstances.  Gratefully I recorded Journal Entry #110: 'transmission paid for in full for van with money collected for sewage problem'.

As the first half of the year ticked away, jobs presented themselves that seemed too good to be true--perfect fits if there ever was such.  Perhaps an excerpt from an email I sent to several vested prayer friends paints the picture best:

'Whether we win or lose, we will praise the LORD'--my favorite line of Facing the Giants--favorite yet most difficult, too...

Yesterday, we got a 'no' on the job...now through our 'tunnel vision' and our 'world lense'... we automatically think this is a 'loss', not a win.  And rightly so--we have been praying, focusing all of our energy on this company for the last several weeks and 'going for it'...doing so because circumstance after circumstance kept lining up that this was 'the job'--interview after interview made everything appear as if this was 'the one'.  It 'appeared' God was working behind the scenes, lining things up, etc., etc., the manager was pulling for him, all of the other sales reps were pulling for him but in the end, God's answer was no.

God closed the door with a resounding thud...

We know He closed it because we have been seeking Him, pursuing Him, and had every inch of this covered in prayer--so, so many people praying for this... so we can be assured God's purpose and plan is in the no.  We can rest in it.  Thank you, Lord, for the 'rest of faith', the resting in the shadow of your wings...

God is upside-down, topsy turvy and works outside our neatly pressed, slick suited interview system.  Unimpressed with impression, His ways are not our ways because our identity is not in a job, it's in Him alone.  Thankful that we are learning this on a field trip and not in the classroom--so thankful.

He said no to the future yes.. and faith of the holiest sorts is built in the waiting room of God. 

Well, God did not make us Grogans runners for nothing.  So yesterday we thought we were in the 25th mile, coming up on the finish line...but today we realize we are on the sixteenth mile with ten more to go.  It's okay.  We've been here before.  We know what to do...our training is going to kick in , our fans on the sidelines have made sure we've got plenty of water and gel packs :), and we are going to push through this race...there will be some pain but it's the good, stretching kind of pain...when we get tired, our Father is going to whisper in our ears that we can do it...our friends will be right there on the sidelines, cheering us on...no, no--I must change that.  With the kind of friends we have, they are going to jump into the race, run with us, and then carry us over the finish line.  I'm sure of it...'

Summer emerged.  As the sun beat down and scorched everything in its path, our family was experiencing a drought in more ways than one.  Job opportunities...dried up.  Job leads...dried up.  We were tempted to let our hope...dry up.  While Eric continued to do menial work to make ends meet, I baked bread to provide extra income (you can read a funny post about that here :) ) , and God creatively filled in the gaps.  We now had over 120 journal entries to date.

Sports.  We love them.  It's what our family does together for fun.  Our boys' smiles are biggest when they are competing.  Our two favorites are baseball and running.  And--truly--God used these two things to keep us 'up' during a very down season.  With four boys playing baseball--well, for a couple of months out of the year, we are totally, 100% immersed.  This past season we went to approximately 872 baseball games (that number might be a little high, but not by much :) ).  As much as we love baseball, and as much as it helped keep our spirits up, running is what kept us sane.  So much so, that Eric and I decided to spend our summer training for a marathon.  As we trained our bodies to endure the pain of a marathon, God trained our minds for the marathon of our circumstances.

Some days we hit the road full of frustration (a polite word for anger) with God. Venting and complaining, we'd lodge our arguments. Mile after mile, He would diffuse.  His Spirit would minister.  Mile after mile, He would share His perspective and enlighten us with His promises:

'....Wait...strength will rise as you wait upon me...My ways are not your ways...My power is made perfect in weakness...A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold...Silver or gold I do not have, but what I have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk (run)...So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness (emphasis added), and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own...'

And so we waited, and we ran. Day after day, through His Word, a devotional, a song, or a podcast, He sustained. And on the run, He ingrained. He turned fears into faith, He turned sadness to joy, He turned complaints into thanksgiving and He turned strife into peace.

And through the discipline of running,
we found His rest.

And as summer came to a close, our circumstances hadn't really changed. God had chosen to remain silent in regards to our many heartfelt cries of employment. He chose to say no without an explanation and without direction. Just simply 'no...and wait.' In fact, we seemed further away from an answer than ever.

And yet, by the route of the road He had supplied Himself...quenching our thirst along the parched path. Yes, we had experienced Him as more than enough. As tears and sweat slid down and off, converging together--paining and training colliding into a stream--along the route of the road in the desert of discipline, He gently and firmly established that: 'For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.'

God often works behind the scenes, strategically arranging events and circumstances to accomplish His plans.  Unbeknonst to us, He was about to make a climatic alignment...

One August day, Eric got a call from the local Area Representative of Fellowship of Christian Athletes (FCA).  He asked Eric if he could become the Huddle chaplain for the North Oldham High School cross country team.  Because he didn't have a job, he was able to say yes to this weekly afternoon commitment.  One thing led to another, and soon he was also leading a FCA Huddle group for our children's cross country team.  As I reflected upon our past year, God may have closed door after door to job opportunities, but he had opened door after door to be 'fisher of men' (Matthew 4:19).  I had spent the first part of the year as the prayer coordinator for Deeper Still.  Now, Eric was spending the last part of the year as a FCA Huddle group chaplain.  Neither of these jobs could have been accomplished had Eric been working.  As I stood on the sidelines, watching my husband combine sports and Jesus, I watched something start to come alive in him.

In our family, the fall means one thing:  CROSS COUNTRY!  We live, love and breathe it.  We spent Saturday after Saturday traveling to cross crountry meets and cheering our children on.  As proud as we were of their running accomplishments, we were more proud of them leading their team members in prayer before a race, more proud of the moments they chose to represent Jesus to those around them.

While our childen hit the prime of their training, us marathoners began to taper.  The Columbus race loomed on the horizon and all systems seemed a go...or so I thought.  Until my knee injury ten days prior to race day.  I'll admit, I did not handle this news gracefully at first.  Remember that temper tantrum beside Interstate 64?  Yep.  I threw another one. 

You see, at this point, God, Eric and I--we had some mileage going on. Along the route of the road--day in, day out--it had become so much more...so much more than a marathon.

We were a team.

I just had one question on that lonely Monday, one question to His 'no' that was the straw breaking the camel's back:

Why--why are you kicking me off the team?

One question followed by a few more:

'All summer long, your answer has been, 'No, no, no...no to this job, no to that job'...all summer long... and now you are going to say no to this too? This, this way of worshipping, this thing we got going on, this really good thing--you are saying no??!!!'

His retort came quietly the following day through my Oswald Chambers devotional, befittingly entitled 'Getting Into God's Stride':

'It is painful work to get in step with God and to keep pace with Him--it means getting your second win spiritually. In learning to walk with God, there is always the difficulty of getting into His stride, but once we have done so, the only characteristic that exhibits itself is the very life of God Himself. The individual is merged into a personal oneness with God and God's stride and His power alone are exhibited. It is difficult to get into stride with God, because as soon as we start walking with Him we find that His pace has surpassed us before we have even taken three steps. He has different ways of doing things, and we have to be trained and disciplined in His ways....It is God's Spirit that changes the atmosphere of our way of looking at things, and then things begin to be possible which before were impossible...Getting into God's stride means nothing less than oneness with Him. It takes a long time to get there, but keep at it. Don't give up because the pain is intense right now--get on with it, and before long you will find that you have a new vision and a new purpose.'

...And suddenly, I felt small. And my wailings, they felt small...

'Oh forgive me, God, for once again making my life and circumstances all about my wants and my desires. Forgive me for not trusting you even when things don't go my way...help me to remember it's not about the results, it's about the relationship.'

My rebellious spirit submitted.  As we bowed our heads during our family prayer time, I chose to thank Him for this newly aquired difficulty. I chose to thank Him that He might be delivering another 'no'.   As I did, His Spirit of Peace filled me with sweet surrender to a marathon Sunday that might or might not involve me as a participant.

As Sunday approached, my knee slightly improved. I decided to go forward by faith, run it and give it my all--until I couldn't.

Thursday before the marathon, Eric interviewed for another medical sales job.  It was really weird, but I was not excited about the interview; Eric was not excited about it either.  He needed a job (with exclamation points!!!), yet it felt like we were just going through the motions.  After the interview that day, Eric went to lunch with some  friends.  One of those friends asked him if he had ever considered trying to combine sports with ministry.  Over the past year, several friends had asked him that same question. We just never knew how to make that happen--it seemed like a pipe dream.  Now that he had gotten involved with FCA, this question got his wheels turning.  When he got home from that lunch, Eric got on the FCA website and saw a job posting for an Area Representative in Western Kentucky--where he had grown up, where we had went to college (Murray State), where we had met.

I had felt with everything in me that this race was playing a significant part in our employement trial, that when we crossed the finish line and finished this marathon, our jobless marathon was also going to be over.  As I reflected on the timing of this job opportunity and our race day, somehow--I really can't explain it--but somehow, I knew.  I knew that this job with FCA was going to be God's answer.  I told a friend that day, 'This is it...this is what we have been waiting for.  This is what God has been preparing us for.'

Sunday.  Marathon Day.  We prepared that morning before the race with some time in God's Word and prayer.  My Jesus Calling devotional stood out as a bright light:

'Look to me continually for help, comfort, and companionship.  Because I am always by your side, the briefest glance can connect you with Me.  When you look to Me for help, it flows freely from My Presence.  This recognition of your need for Me, in small matters as well as in large ones, keeps you spiritually alive.'

My mother-in-law had given Eric and I a bible verse to pin on ourselves during the race.  The verse she had chosen for me was Isaiah 41:13: 'For I am the Lord, your God, who takes hold of your right hand.'

Companionship--this is what our journey, our race, had been all about this past year--choosing to grab hold of his hand and walk with Him whether the terrain was tough or easy.  As we chose to do so, He infused us with the ability to keep going.  Today I was going to have to do the same and look to Him when it got painful.

It didn't take long for the pain to set in.  Eric said my face at mile seven said it all.  I told him to go ahead as I wasn't sure that I would be able to finish.  As I slowed down, I watched he and our pace group run ahead, my dream of a 3:45 finish disappearing with them.

I had all intentions of quitting.  I really did.  But every time I was about to stop I got a little more strength, a little more stamina to keep going.  It was as if Jesus was literally running this race beside me, squeezing my hand every time I needed a boost.

My performance that day didn't even compare to my prior two marathons.  I had to completely walk miles 22-24.  Throughout the entire race, people past me left and right.  Two perky girls in bright pink blew by me, the back of their shirts sporting, 'this is my first marathon and I'm beating you!'  I thought about accidentally spitting on them, but they were too far in front of me.

My performance may have been less than par, but what I experienced along the way that day was more than enough.  His companionship.  Him and Him alone.  It was more than enough.

As I hobbled along that day on the race path, I saw clearly the path divinely forged for us in 2011.  We, too, had been thrown off the peformance train.  We, too, had been forced to hobble along, forced to watch people pass us left and right.  Yet His companionship had been more than enough.  Strangely, while he had never promised us a rose garden, we had been forced to move slowly through what we had initailly considered a landfill.  Forced to linger in the landfill, we had found roses in the most unexpected places, yielding the most unexpected blessings.  Beautiful blessings, over 200 recorded, so many more that had never even made it to paper.  And I realized  He does promise a rose garden...we just have to be willing to stop and smell the roses, His divinely planted roses.

From the world's perspective, my marathon was not a winner.  From the world's perspective, our family's 2011 wasn't a winner.  Yet, could it be that the winning was really in the losing?   Losing pride in a job, to gain humility in our Savior's identity.  Losing the grasp of the allure of riches, to gain eternal treasure.  Losing our desire to trust in ourselves, to gain the faith to trust in His provision.  Losing our self imposed plan and purpose, to gain His.  Yes, I could see it now...The winning had been in the losing.

We crossed the finish line that day.  That finish line represented the end of an aimless wondering in the wilderness.  The end of a long season of waiting.  In the weeks that followed, God unfolded His plan, a plan to take us to Western Kentucky--Paducah to be exact--to spread His Word among coaches, athletes and students. 

We can look back now and realize that He has been right beside us every step of the way, preparing us all along.   The year of preparation, that's what 2011 has been.  A preparation that occurred through recording and remembering.  The journal purchase last December was not a mere chance occurrence, but rather a divine appointment  to build faith, to build trust, to infuse peace .

The verse He has continued to put on our heart is Matthew 9: 38: 'The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few.  Ask the lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.'   We ask, as we prepare over the coming months, that you pray for us.  Pray for His grace, His help, His plan, His purpose.  Pray for the harvest field in Western Kentucky, for workers to emerge, for a plentiful harvest.  Moving and leaving Louisville is going to be the hardest thing our family has ever done.  We will go with tears streaming, but we will go with excitement brewing.  Excitement over the adventure the Lord has us on...we are pumped about following His lead and 'running with perseverance the race marked out for us!'

Yes, just as 'the Shepherds returned, praising and glorifying God for all that they had seen and heard' (Luke 2:20), we too stand in awe of the year behind us...and in awe of a God who invites us to participate in what He is doing.  As I flip through our 'Jump for Joy' journal, I realize there are still so many blank pages yet.  This adventure, this reliance on the Lord--oh, it's only just begun.  With divine ink and hand, He is writing His story...my heart pumps in anticipation just thinking about what's to come.

As you enter 2012, we pray that you would grab a hold of the hand of the One and Only, the sweet Savior of this world--Jesus--and let Him write your story.  We promise you, you won't regret it.

With Much Love,

The Grogans
Eric, Maria, Joshua, Sophie, Jeremiah, Wes and Owen