As I continue on this journey towards joining the pack known as Triathletes, I find myself having more and more mixed feelings. The perfectionist in me wants to be good at each sport right away and then build up to a semi-competitive state. However, the reality I must face is that on the bike, I down right suck. My muscles that propel me through the water and push me step by step on the road, just do not function the same when attached to 30 pound metal and chain contraption.

Sports psychologists (and regular ones for that matter) talk a lot about positive self-talks. There is even an article in Runner’s World this month that talks about mantras. I think that if I’m telling myself I suck on the bike, of course I will suck on the bike. Then there is that whole fear of falling down.

My dear friend (a soon-to-be IRONWOMAN!) went for an easy ride with me this week and said “what will happen if you fall down?”. I went on to describe that honestly, even my slow yet bloody and scary crash last summer wasn’t all that bad, we still finished the ride. So what is it I’m afraid of exactly? The speed, the wind, the cars, the left turns from a complete stop? Why is it that my cadence is so incredibly slow?

Perhaps it is fear that if I work really hard at this that I will reach a level similar to that in swimming and running, where I have to work even harder to maintain mediocrity?

Perhaps it is not fear of failure, but rather fear of success?

Conversations in the last few days have led me be very cognizant of my speech. I have been very disconcerted at the words adults have used to describe each other and children. I have been made uncomfortable by the language used in the presence of colleagues, parents, strangers, and even, our children.

I believe that all children should be spoken to so they may understand. I also believe that as teachers, it is imperative that we hold onto the notion that all children are good. Don’t get me wrong, children do make bad choices, but children are not bad. They are learning and growing, trying and failing, succeeding and sliding all at the same time. They are pawns to the circumstances in which they have been born and we must raise them up, through our example, our teaching, our learning, and our love.

With that said, we as educators must use language with our children and each other that is reflective of that belief. I don’t just mean refraining from foul language, because that is just a small piece. But as we speak of children,we should use words that build them up, address their issues with hope, and validate their worth. When we speak in the presence of children we should be models for behavior and character.

Careful what you say, Children will listen (Into the Woods)….

I read this article today about how ipods are changing the way we experience our environment.

It was funny to me because as I walked amidst the UT campus this weekend, it was amazing to me how many students were attached to either an ipod or a cell phone. I think I only saw a handful of these youthful undergraduates opening their ears to the world around them. I also did not see a single group of people “walking and talking”.

For the record, I own several ipods and we are a five ipod/two person family. Itunes has changed the way I teach music and so has my ipod dock. I also could not function properly at this point in my life without my cell phone. I don’t have a problem with college students owning or using these devices on a regular basis.

But…..

I recall all of the wonderful sounds I encountered walking amongst my college campus seven years ago. Clicking feet, rushing water, wind, the ever present construction site but most of all the conversations with friends. I did not have a single class in which I was the only music person there as we tend to travel in packs. Ah the lamenting, exuberation, and commiserating that we did from those very brisk walks from Fine Arts to the Union or all the way out to Garrett-Strong for science or government.

What do we miss when we plug in on the subway? What do we miss when we listen to the same 5000 songs but nothing new or no NPR? What do we miss when we don’t get to hear the sounds of the earth around us, like rustling leaves or flying planes or even honking cars? What part of humanity do we miss when we tune out?

Or perhaps that is the point. Perhaps, we are becoming a more insulated population, more introverted and more able to disconnect from the onslaught of 24 hour news that shouts at us reminded us that the world is not quite uptopian.

I will embrace my technology and tune in for my 5000 songs, my podcasts from Princeton, and my workout mixes. But perhaps I will also tune out of technology from time to time and tune in to the world around me.

My dear friend and I just completed the Austin Half-Marathon on Sunday. We had lofty goals of 1:47 equaling 8:10 pace over 13.1 miles. This was a PR I had set on a pancake flat course in September and we knew that Austin would be major hilly, but we took a bite and chewed the course up.

We had each dedicated the race to a loved one. My friend to her Mom, who is fighting lymphoma and I to my Aunt, who recently passed from aggresive cancer. Keeping our minds focused on the fact that their battles were much harder than any little running race, we trudged up and down the hills.

We cruised through miles 1-8 and knew what was upon us, the dreaded 8-11 of straight up and down. Or rather UPPPPP and down. We had managed to maintain a sub-8 minute pace for most of the race, so there wasn’t the usual social time that we normally share. Miles 8-11 were focused on those fighting disease and those who have left this world as courageous fighters.

It was as we approached what would be the final hill, as we hit the start of the 12th mile that we were in need of some serious angel wings. I am certain that my Aunt was flapping like a falcon from up above in her nest. She had brought us up and down but pulled us up that last hill and set us free on mile 12 as we remarked on the amazing courage that my friend’s mom has shown in her battle. We charged through, minds focused on others, not us and had a final mile of 7:05 pace.

Hopefully those angel wings are taking a well deserved rest today. From me, the humble earth trodder, I offer my thanks.

Several things have amazed me in the last week:

The thoroughly embracing and inclusive community that my Aunt and Uncle are a part of in their church. At my Aunt’s funeral wake and mass, it was so obvious to me that they are part of a church community devoted to family, to care of each other, and to unsurpassed faith in the Lord Jesus. I have no fear for the care of my Uncle and cousins as I saw that their church family has them deep in their arms.

As we came home on Wednesday night, the plows had gone through our street blocking in virtually every car in the lot. But as we were driving up 10 neighbors were out on the cul-de-sac shovels and scrapers in hand, digging out every car. Even one of our littlest neighbors (probably just under age 4) had her pink shovel to lend a hand. It was this sense of community that gave me extreme joy and I became awash in the light of God as he shown through our neighbors.

My sister referenced the word “communion of saints” many times as we traveled to and from the funeral services. It isn’t a phrase that I have thought of much in my spiritual walk. But these two very poignant instances of community have made very clear to me that we are amongst the communion of saints both here and as we travel to be with the Lord. If we look upon those around us as members of this communion, it certainly changes how we see them. How we look at them, treat them, care for them. Perhaps this different point of view is just what we need to find love around us.

I think it is quite perfect that I am taking a class on change for grad school this semester, as my school is taking on a great amount of change in the next year. I find myself in a place where it seems that one or two small changes or assessments can’t be enough. I see that we are embracing a billion different changes, but no one can truly articulate what they are and why we are doing them. They are supposed to be creating excellence in teaching and learning, but it isn’t clear what should be important and why it all has to be done RIGHT NOW.

I am not exactly questioning these types of changes. As a newcomer to this school from a public school where change was not introduced but dictated, I am almost enjoying sitting and watching the perspectives awash around me. Some are excited, some are angry, some are indifferent, some are frightened. It is almost as if our change process has to go through stages, like those of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’ stages of grief before we decide that we shall either accept or reject the changes put before us.

The difference, however, between this school is that through it all, I find a large cohort of us truly dedicated to the education of our students. We are not collecting a paycheck, we are not doing this because we have to, we are teachers, because we love our students. We teach them because seeing them learn gives us a greater joy than anything else we could do in our lives. We will ride the waves of change because we know that if we hold on, and put forth our best, that our children will be ok.

Change in education is a great wheel. Only when someone is truly willing to embrace a flat tire and try something new (hover board perhaps?), shall change truly be enacted.

I could learn to hover….

Yesterday marked the passing of my Aunt Nancy Thomas. She had a very short and very hard battle with cancer that seemed to have come from no where and take over her slight frame. After being ventilated this week, she made the choice to die peacefully instead of being kept alive through tubes and machines. I believe this was her greatest act of courage.

She enters the Lord’s kingdom now, to shine down upon and await the arrival of her husband, John, her daughters Lori and Dale, son-in-law Jim, and granddaughter Elizabeth.

May her family be comforted by the knowledge that she has moved on from this earthly world, from her pain and suffering, to an eternal life of peace with our Lord.

Yesterday was another single day snow day. Always a blessing for teachers and children (not so, of course, for parents….but alas). It was also a bit of a “freebie snow day”, given that the sun was out and the small inch of snow melted away by mid-day. That did not stop me, however, from treating it as a completely socked in by weather type of day.

I often find that idle time gives me mixed feelings. As I spend most of my days and nights moving at full tilt, a day with a free schedule provides me with too many choices (clean the house? sit on the couch? read good books? plan ahead for lessons? Sleep? Run?) Usually I find my self whittling away the hours aimlessly and then realizing, as the free time is running out, all that I have needed to do. So I remain in a slightly less than clean house, books only halfway read, and lessons needing to be planned. But is a freebie day God’s way of saying slow down? Or is it his way of declaring, I just gave you more time do what you’ve been putting off.

Hmmmm. I suppose I’ll have to see on the next snow day.

Dory in Finding Nemo has the best attitude ever. Her mantra of Just Keep Swimming was definitely with me as I hit the cold water hard and fast at 5:15am this morning.

Embracing a new training schedule is always a little daunting, but two-a-days, bricks, and 5:15 am M-Th would have to border on insanity. Only three weeks into this whole shebang (and just two into the true tri schedule) and I am feeling surprisingly well. Approaching training from a completely different perspective has truly made me appreciate each new physical skill I gain or sharpen.

I have been out of the pool for 11 years, which is as many as I spent in it as a child. I have embraced my love of chlorine smell with full force and have felt a freedom that never truly manifests itself in roadrunning. Being in water and using my arms and legs to thrust myself up and down feels natural, comfortable, peaceful. Though I have to push to maintain speed or form, it is a great joy. As if I have been transported to another time or place and not here in this cold pool at O’dark:30.

This training will prove a very hard task for me, but with the feeling obtained by a few short laps in the pool, I will certainly “just keep swimming”.

I find myself, like every Christian or frankly any religious practioner at some point, at a major crossroads of faith practice. I do not question the existence of God, my belief in the birth, life, death, and resurrection of His son Jesus Christ, nor do I question the need for spiritual practice, being a part of a faith community or faith and good works. However, I find myself at this difficult place of how to practice and which community with which to practice.

As a cradle Episcopalian, I have only a few small diversions of the Anglican path, a short stint as a Presbyterian while in Kansas City (a great experience, but not a lifetime commitment) and six months amongst a non-denominational contemporary community (great worship, but like an onion, you must peel the layers to reveal the true aroma…) Now, having married a lapsed Catholic, being angered at my local Episcopal parish (NOT the church as a whole), and trying to complete a very full training schedule while working full time, I have found myself without a church home and struggling to find my place as a Christian. I am not the first Christian to struggle with finding the right theological and liturgical fit, I will not be the last. But it does weight on my heart so heavily.

I have attended the Catholic church many times in the last two months, with very devoted and educated Catholic friends, and have found moving and thoughtful preaching. But, as I am not a Catholic, I am often led to deep sorrow as we reach the time of Eucharist and I am not considered worthy to receive. Having been a part of an amazing inclusive community of the Episcopal church, it is unfathomable to me to be denied a place at the Lord’s table for not following the same catechism or even if I have faithful beliefs, not being welcomed because I have not taken a course or completed a ritual. I often find myself wondering, didn’t Jesus teach us to love and embrace all? Did he perform the Last Supper with his friends to teach us to do the same in remembrance of Him, but only if you are a member of this denomination? Did He sacrifice His life on the cross for all of our sins, or just those who follow a particular catechism, be it Catholic, Protestant, or Protestant-Evangelical?

On the flip side, I hesitate to return to a non-denominational setting as I have yet to find one that, once you peel the layers, is truly inclusive. I am so terribly uncomfortable with the “God doesn’t change…Jesus hates gay people…the only issue in the church is gay marriage….we vote republican, if you’re a christian you do to” mentality that is held by so many evangelical Christians today. Andrew Sullivan puts it best when he says “There are very orthodox believers who nonetheless respect the freedom and conscience of others as part of their core understanding of what being a Christian is.”
As a believer in Christ, I do not see how it is Christian to not respect all of God’s people and welcome anyone who wishes to seek God to our Lord’s table? There are those who are incredibly firm in their faith practice and beliefs but understand that Jesus first taught us to love one another.

I shall not abandon my faith thought this step on the journey. I will not question the foundations, but must study further the theology, liturgy, catechism and whatever else you would like to name it behind the different versions of Christian community. Hopefully, through prayer and patience, the way will be made clear and my family will be led to a new church home.

In the meantime, I hold fast to the belief that regardless of one’s espousing or pontifications that we are simply told to love one another.