I won a half marathon.

Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. "Make level paths for your feet," so that the lame may not be disabled, but rather healed. -- Hebrews 12:12 - 13

Since I've been tagged a "bible-thumper" recently, I decided to open this quarterly report (way overdue, I know) with a verse that's been resonating with me for the past few days. At first, upon reading it, I took it as some inspiration for the day -- "Man up!" it called to me, after a few days of self-pitying and moodiness. "Get dressed, go to work, slap a smile on your face, and remember that God is good." And I did that ... Well, mostly; I got dressed, went to work, tried my best to smile, and made it through another, hot, loud, chaotic Belizean day.

I remember a time just about a year ago while riding my bike to downtown Belize City to pick up the mail or something, thinking to myself: "I'm tired of being pushed around by this place. I'm tired of feeling sorry for myself and not fighting back. Get scrappy, Molly. Get scrappy." With years of athletic discipline in my bones, that tactic worked for a while: when I was homesick, I set my eyes on July 15, 2008 for the visit of my family; when I was frustrated at work, I turned off all my appliances in the office and copied things only by hand and didn't check email for weeks at a time even though the internet was literally a click (and a power button) away; and when I was feeling lonely and isolated, I filled my mind with short stories and books I found in our house library. I ran probably about 25 to 30 miles a week, I didn't communicate with people from home very often, and I withdrew from a growing spirituality for fear, I think, of confronting the real questions of why Belize was so dang hard for me.

And, with all of that effort, I made it. I stayed here. I saw my family in July. I finished a year of work. I won a half marathon. I found a lot of authors I liked.

And my heart was hard.

I know I have written a bit about "humiliation" in my previous updates, but that continues to be the ongoing theme of my experience here, so I'm going to let it flow again. Besides being told yesterday at the dentist that I have 22 cavities (!!!!!!! very embarrassing) and besides ripping the backside of my shorts in front of the youth group while racing someone to a stray volleyball (it sounded like a huge fart, which made it even worse), the most humiliating thing that has happened to me recently was a conversation I had with a friend, a Belizean. She told me that for some time now, she's hated me. She listed off -- openly -- the many ways that I've hurt her, the many ways I've failed to support her, and the many ways she laments the distance that has grown between us in the past few months. Wow. In my meek defense, I will say that there are some cultural and personal circumstances that have also contributed to such miscommunication, but the bottom line is that this friend, in whom I've invested the most effort, the most intentionality, and the most care over my past 20 months in Belize, doesn't feel loved at all. Now, with two months left, my heart is broken for the self-absorbed determination that has been hammered between me and someone I love.

And so, my reflection leads me to recall the second half of that verse from Hebrews. What it speaks to me, then, are not words of chastisement akin to the "encouraging" words of coaches and even sometimes parents who tell us to get back up, to try a little harder, to fight a little more scrappy ("Get to the bloody ball, JP!!!!!!!!!!" -- Amy Milhomme and Kristen Blake know exactly who I am talking about!). Instead, these are words from a loving God who wants us to be disciplined in Him, focused on Him, so that the "lame may not be disabled, but rather healed" on His even path. I think that is so beautiful; I don't want to be strong for only myself anymore, or to speed crazily along my own bumpy path focusing only on the end result and not the fact that I'm getting serious whiplash and also dragging people along behind me -- so far, that method has got me nothing but a hard heart and a lot of awkward conversations! No, thank you.

I am a determined person by nature, and I like a challenge just as much as the next adventure-seeking tomboy. But how blessed am I for the experience here that has shown me which things are worth being determined for, and which adventures and challenges are worth seeking. I know from documentation in the pages of my four filled journals from last year that my main goal was "to make it." To make what? My time commitment to JVI, to St. Martins, to Belize? I think, in reading between the lines of my own writing, my actual goal was "to not fail" -- to not fail that time commitment I pledged to, to not fail my job responsibilities, or my placement in this program. But instead, I failed myself and more importantly, as He already knew -- and already accepted -- that I would, I fell short of how God has called me to be.

For some strange reason, this whole bit makes me think about my dad and the skating rinks he used to build in our backyard for us growing up. They were awesome, and certainly the coveted "toy" of the neighborhood. Kids who I was never even friends with would suddenly start talking to me at school, or even less discreetly, would just show up at my house with their skates and a hopeful smile. Anyways, my dad would be out there in the yard in the wee morning hours, shoveling the snow off the rink, spreading a thin layer of hose water on top and circling the ice with his homemade zamboni broom/cloth contraption that smoothed out the water over all the bumps and cracks in the ice. By the time we came home from school, the ice would be hard, smooth, and ready for me and my "friends" to skate and play hockey for the afternoon. The few times when bumps resurfaced, or cracks split in the ice, I remember wiping out unexpectedly, and falling flat on my face. Playing pick-up hockey on bumpy ice was a) not fun, and b) dangerous; while my dad's disciplined daily care of the rink was a little bit a result of his control compulsion, it was also in the sake of his concern for us. He understood that it was to his own benefit to make that ice good quality: when he evened out the ice and made it look nice, we wanted to play. And when we wanted to play, we wanted him to play with us. And when he played with us, he knew he would always win.

If you have the time, which I know most of you who have real jobs and mouths to feed probably don't, I'd love to hear your personal reflections or thoughts on the verse above, on life, on my aimless emails, whatever.

Much peace and love to all,
Molly