ROT (Random Other Things)

1.) I dreamed the other night that Oprah, who was a regular reader of Blessed Endurance, and I were having a conversation, and she said, "I see there is a manner to your mania."

2.) Is it just me or does it seem like the 9/11 mastermind has no chance of a fair trial if he is tried in U.S. courts? I'm curious about why this case is not being tried at The Hague.

3.) This has had me thinking a lot about help for helpers.

On the job training

My job is wonderful because I see God’s desire for relationship with his creation every day. My job is terrible because, like a steam engine, it will take whatever you give it. Sometimes it’s easy to just keep feeding the furnace; before you realize it the train is off the tracks.

This weekend I have been trying to apply the brakes.

Two months into my counseling residency, I have come to the realization that I haven’t had a clear enough understanding, or a high enough respect, of my own limits. During the past two weeks, I have spent more than 100 hours at work. As a result, I subconsciously had turned off my emotions. So when co-workers and supervisors told me what was full-time effort, but then asked for more and responded to my “No” in a way that I interpreted meant my “No” was not acceptable, I went along with it.

I thought I could do more than I could. I was naïve. I recognized Sunday that I was suppressing a lot of anger, loneliness and fatigue.

A 5-year-old boy receiving his H1N1 vaccination brought my emotions rushing back. I joined the child in class on Friday as part of his treatment plan. Unbeknownst to me, the vaccinations were on the agenda, but I went along with the process because my job is to blend in during the school day; go along with the child, observe his behavior, be a secure attachment figure for him.

When he got in the chair to get his shot, he began to panic. I was kneeling beside him while one nurse prepared the shot and another woman tried to calm him. When the woman began to use the child’s mother as a bargaining chip – “Don’t you think it would make your Mommy happy ...” – I had had enough. I asked to give it a go, and the lady let me sit in her chair. I gently took the child’s hands, lowered my head to get to eye level. The little guy exhibits ADHD characteristics on top of this spike in anxiety, so his eyes were going everywhere. I caught his gaze, held it and said:

“You are going to do this, and I’m going to be right here with you.”

That’s when he rolled up his own sleeve and let the nurse give the shot. He screamed. Boy, did he scream. And I thought my heart was going to explode. He hugged my neck when it was over. We both cried.

For the rest of Friday and most of Saturday, my thoughts about the experience revolved around how much of an emotional mess I was going to be when I was in the chair across from a child of my blood rather than a child of my job. I didn’t get the point God was trying to get to me.

Until Sunday.

The sermon was based on John 6:32-35, 48-58. Jesus is presenting himself as the bread of life to a people who remember Moses’ manna and are longing for another spiritual leader who will literally feed them. They want to know that their physical needs will be met. Jesus drives a pretty grotesque metaphor, and he doesn’t back away from it or explain it in a more palatable way.

Because I consider myself a believer in attachment theory and its reflection of the design of a God who keeps covenant, I interpreted Jesus’ metaphor to be directing the people to find their security in Him as God. He goes deeper than physical needs, thus he meets those needs in ways that may seem mysterious.

My experience with the child and a needle came flooding back to me. I found myself in the child’s chair, my eyes darting every which way, and a counterfeit security sitting in the chair before me, manipulating me. Work more, earn more, eat more, right? Reality is work more, lose more. Lose more time with the people that matter to me personally. Lose more connection with my emotions. Lose more energy to do my job well enough to keep my job.

Reality is that I’m not hungry, or cold, or exposed physically. God has provided more than I even knew to want or ask.

So I need to have a chat with some co-workers and my supervisor starting today about where I have been and maybe explain some odd behavior.

I also need to be more proactive about connecting with guys, fellow strugglers. Rick, our pastor, found Nicki and me after church where we had squirreled away so I could process. I hugged him and the emotions came back. I hugged him hard, putting all my anger into it. I hugged him harder than I hug Nicki. I don’t want to break her, after all.

The Move: Part Deux

Well, Nicki’s here in the living room doing yoga, so I figured what better time to write about reasons to celebrate God stretching our boundaries and moving us here to Staunton. The move is the dawn of our life together as DINKs (dual-income, no kids), professional counselors and charter members of a church plant. It marks our return to the mountains for which we longed in Mississippi, closeness to family, the Eastern Time zone and four seasons. It has thrown fuel on the fire of our passions, such as cycling, backpacking, running and generally being outside. What follows are a few of the details of why we love Staunton and that fuel our hope that this be the place God lets us put down roots.



Our house is awesome. Instead of an interstate highway, we have a soccer field. Instead of having noisy neighbors, we live on an island in a quiet neighborhood. The back porch is made for drinking coffee, hanging out and watching really bad NCAA Division III women’s soccer on the aforementioned soccer field. We have a basement in which to store our bikes, we have an upstairs where we have a guestroom. You really should visit.

Much credit is due to Mama and Papa Bear (my pet names for Paul and Jan Baran, my in-laws). They were our housing scouts and drove about 2 hours from Richmond twice during August to check out places we found on Craig’s List and others they found. They deserve praise for many things, but most of all for caring enough about our housing to refuse us the chance to use our own judgment. They showed us places we wanted them to see. So glad they were able to put eyes to the city and ears to the landlords.

We can walk almost anywhere we want to go: Church, downtown, the Y, grocery store Gypsy Hill Park. Another park, with 5 miles of running/MTB trails is 2 miles away. We can get to our favorite cycling routes out our back door instead of driving them 15 miles up an interstate to the starting point. Can’t tell you how much I appreciate those extra minutes of sleep on Saturday mornings!



This place is hilly! This is the view from the end of Johnson Street, which runs through downtown. The road hits a 19-percent grade just before its summit. For some perspective, consider that Alpe d’Huez doesn’t go steeper than 12 percent. Lance would have fun in our city.



Nicki has a nose for horses. She often rides Ohle, a Norwegian Fjord, at Cedar Creek Stables. When she moved to Jackson, she did an Internet search for barns in the area at which she could do chores and take lessons. That was part of the process for finding our friends Michele and Tim at what used to be the Mount Leopard Children’s Ranch between Pocahontas and Flora. Tim and Michele introduced Nicki to EAGALA, a certification organization for therapists who use horses as therapeutic tools. On a bike ride shortly after we moved, Nicki saw Cedar Creek’s shingle on Shutterlee Mill Road. It wasn’t long before she knocked on their door. She found that they already were involved in Ride With Pride, a NARHA program. Before Nicki showed up, the RWP coordinator, Debbie, had been wanting to bring on a Master’s-level therapist to open up the mental health side of equine therapy. Now, Nicki had had a lot of frustration finding a job up here, and the slowness of finding employment gave her time to search for a barn. Within a month, Nicki and Debbie were talking about including Nicki in grant writing, attending EAGALA certification weekends next year, and paying her a salary. How’s that for God’s provision?

Speaking of God’s provision, I have been employed with the Harrisonburg office of the League of Therapists, and I have just reached full-time status. That means I’m billing at least 100 client-contact hours per month. I call this my tent-making venture, because it’s giving us a regular paycheck and providing benefits while we also work with Journey Counseling Ministries, a biblically based counseling ministry started by John Kuebler, a fellow RTS Jackson graduate and an licensed professional counselor and marriage and family therapist on staff at Covenant PCA in H’burg. Nicki and I were approved to come on staff by the board of directors on Oct. 21. I saw my first client through JCM last week. Nicki is going to Lexington today to meet with a pastor down there who wants to give JCM office space to do work with their community, which includes two major college campuses, Virginia Military Institute and Washington & Lee University. Our practices are taking off, and we get free supervision toward state licensure through Kuebler and the League (Nicki is in talks to come on with the Waynesboro League office).

As you can see, God has taken care of us. I have only touched the surface. There will be much more to report; we’ve only been here two months. Look for Nick to let you in on our last-minute, overnight jaunt to the top of Elliott Knob. It’s the highest point in our county (4,600-plus feet), where Nicki took the sunrise pic at the top of the post, and the trailhead is less than 15 miles from our front door. Be jealous. Be very, very jealous.

The Move Part I: Great Losses

STAUNTON, Va. -- You may have noticed the new town listing under our name to the right of the page. Many of you already knew that we have moved from Jackson, Miss., to Staunton, Va. This is a big part of the reason we haven’t updated in a while. There has been much to write about, but not much time to write it.

Today, there is a little quiet time as Nicki is helping with a horse show and I’m sitting in the living room of some new friends, dog sitting. There is so much to update the world on that I’m breaking it into two parts.

Freshest on our minds, I think are who and what we have lost during the transition. The grief is great. Tears continue to be shed, and I think you’ll understand why. We have sacrificed many connections to follow what we believe was God’s direction to the Shenandoah Valley. We have given up:

Our Neighborhood


Belhaven in Northeast Jackson. It was safe. It was calm. It was lined with trees. It was close to work. It was perfect for walks. Nicki walked to work. You could argue that our house now is nicer. You could argue that our neighborhood is comparable, with most of the things we want within walking distance. But it’s not the same. There are no fig trees close by. Our offices are too far away. It’s sad.

Our Pets


We lost both our pets during the transition. Jack was lost directly because of the move. We found it next to impossible to find a place to rent that would accommodate an 80-pound golden lab and not blow our budget to smithereens. Jack was dear to me because, firstly, he was awesome: He was the perfect outdoor dog – swimming, camping, he would do anything as long as you involved a tennis ball. He didn’t do stupid things that a lot of other dogs do, i.e., bark inappropriately at all hours, bite kids, defecate inside or chase cyclists ... at least not maliciously. And He was sort of a grounding presence for me during what I would call the most difficult time of my life. Let’s just say I kept Jack in the breakup. Part of me felt really guilty about letting Jack go because it felt like I was shirking my responsibility to take care of him. But at the end of the day, I recognized that my circumstances between the time that I got Jack and now are vastly different. Plus, I found a great family to take him in. Eight acres, a lake, other dogs, higher tax bracket. Big time upgrade for the Jackinater.



The indirect loss, however, was the most painful. Nicki’s childhood pet, Snowy, died the week after we arrived in Staunton. She was 16, and had been a key part of Nicki’s life since Nicki was 11. Most of Nicki’s affection-giving habits, like sniffing my face in the morning and playing with my ears, are a product of her relationship with Snowy Bean. The White Witch of Narnia had nothing on Snowy Bean. She ruled her kingdom, and none crossed her. She had my in-laws feeding her gourmet style twice a day. When she was in good health, her throne was Nicki’s bed. In her later years, she preferred to basement couch, but a royal couch it was! All joking aside, she was a fine feline, and Nicki loved her very much. The timing of her passing was both fortuitous and tragic. Nicki had the chance to say her goodbyes shortly after we arrived in Virginia, but the loss compounded Nicki’s grief. Many, many tears will be shed for Snowy Bean for many years to come. Honestly, how do you move on from the passing of a presence so familiar? Snowy’s passing is not unlike the passing of a cherished, matriarchal family member.

Our Friends


We had a deep, deep love for our friends, especially our riding buddies. Pictured above are Jim and Clifford; a third member of the team was Matt, but I couldn't find the picture with all of us in it (and maybe more regrettably, without Jim's GOP jersey). Nicki rode with Clifford nearly everyday during the summer. We all rode every Saturday at least 40 miles, but usually more than 60, together. We had regular routes. We supported each other on club rides. We tried our damnedest to help Clifford average 20 mph for 100 miles before he dies. Clifford and Pat became almost surrogate parents for us in Jackson. I can’t count the number of times they fed us. His deer sausage is the best I’ve ever put in my mouth and his Margaritas put me fastest on the floor. Nicki regularly raided Pat’s herb garden (not sure who was helped more by this, Nicki or Pat). Matt is kind of like our redneck cousin. He always has a story (I’m going to start writing them down one day and be the ghost writer for his book), a kind word, a long pull for somebody in the group. We went through some tough relationship stuff with him, and we got close. As for Jim, well, he’s sort of like the eccentric uncle that no one knows quite what to do with, but is always ready with a helping hand at the most unexpected moments. It was our connection with him that helped us find a new home for Jack. We’re mourning our daily connection with this group deeply. Thankfully, Clifford calls regularly, Jim finds us on Facebook from time to time, and Matt has planned a visit around Thanksgiving. But we miss them on Saturdays. Long rides just aren’t the same without Matt ripping our legs off before we’re warmed up, Jim yelling CRBK! when there’s a four-wheeled menace behind our paceline, and Clifford saying at the end, “Well, we got 57.8783857245 miles. Who wants to go around the block for an even 60?”

Our Church

I’ll conclude the post by mentioning our church, Redeemer Presbyterian Church. It was unique because it was a multi-ethnic congregation in one of the whitest, dullest denominations in the country, the Presbyterian Church in America. You may have heard conservative Presbyterians called “The Frozen Chosen” for their adherence to the Calvinistic doctrine of predestination and their utter lack of rhythm and/or emotions. But our church was focused on racial reconciliation in a city that is the capital of one of the more culturally wounded states in the nation due to racism. Our pastor was an excellently spoken, educated and relational man, who also happened to have dark skin. He knows God, knows his Word and can deliver it in word and deed to his family and community. I have much admiration for him. But the church was much more than Mike Campbell. It was Steve and Sherry Lanier (fellow Bulldogs), Dina Plunket, the Great Dent klan. Gene and Betty Marsha Dent led our homegroup, pictured above. This thin slice of the church community was full of great friends of ours, many of whom had graduated from RTS with an MA in marriage and family therapy, like us, some of whom had also attended concurrently with Nicki. We prayed for each other. We helped each other. We fed each other. Our church here, Holy Cross (PCA) is also a new church looking to reach a city with unique needs. The diversity is not the same right now. And though we can be a big part of changing that since we’re charter members, we miss rocking out with the choir to hymns, spirituals and choruses. “I thank you for food on my table/ I know you’re able!/ I wanna say thank you!” I get chills when I sing that song up here.

So, as you can see, there is much to mourn during our transition. I've just scratched the surface, really. There are so many more people to mention, Michele and Tim, Tina and all the horses at Mt. Leopard, Kiki and Trey, Ariel and Jeff, Josh and Krista, The O'Dells, The Rogers, the RTS MFT Launching class of 2009, on and on. ... And the process is far from over. That’s not to say that we don’t have things for which to be thankful. But for now, we’ll allow the acknowledgement of sadness. There will be a time for celebrating. But it is not now.

The debate is not about health CARE ...

The debate is about health INSURANCE. The debate is not about the availability of service, but how to pay for it.

The President says he wants to make changes in the current insurance system, which pervades how care is administered in hospitals and private doctors' offices, so that more people can afford it. There is talk about a "public option," which appears to be more complicated than it should be, and a lot of opposition to it.

I've been thinking a lot about this issue and the paths proponents and opponents have taken to push their ideas. Neither side appears to be doing itself many favors. The loudest, most publicized voices appear to come from the margins and those with the more extreme opinions. For example, The President himself has drawn much criticism for the speed at which he wants to get this measure passed. This tack makes it look like he's trying to sneak something by the public, and that's exactly how the opponents spin it. Then there's the whole death panel thing. Is there a moderate voice anywhere with a cool head who can explain to me what I need to know in a way I can understand?

So I've come up with two questions that I want answered.

1.) Why can't the public and private options co-exist?
This is the case with schools. Public education is available to every child in America through the 12th grade. In some areas, this education is more valuable than in others. In areas where public schools may be below standards for some people, there is a private option for which parents can pay extra. They still pay taxes, which pay for public schools. It's a similar situation in the legal system. Everyone, citizen or not, is entitled to legal representation if accused with a crime. Often this state-provided representation is lack luster. Often, it is top notch. If you don't want to take the risk, you can pay for your own, private representation. Who pays for the public option? Taxpayers.

Aren't these just examples of public and private options co-existing, and in the grand scheme, don't they co-exist reasonably well? I've heard people complain about public schools, but not to the scale people are resisting public health insurance. I've never heard anyone make a credible argument against public legal defense.

2.) Whatever happened to the
state health department? The same people who regulate restaurant cleanliness also make health care service available, like preventive care, immunizations, disease testing and prevention. Growing up, Mom took us to the county health department for our school immunizations because it was the same care for much, much less. I remembered this the other day when I was in the Hinds County Health Department waiting to get a TB skin test for my new job. Not sure what a physical or a booster shot costs, but my TB test was all of $10. I can handle that. And no, I didn't see a doctor. I saw an RN. But she squeezed the syringe just fine and was quite gentle. She was also quite knowledgeable when I asked her what limitations I might have after receiving the test.
And the experience wasn't any worse than when I went for my "HEALTHY YOU" physical two weeks ago at the private clinic except for the floors at the health department weren't carpeted. I sat around strangers. I still had to wait.
What really stands out to me between my two latest health care experiences is that not only was the private billing more complicated, even with insurance, what was meant to be a no-cost visit has turned into a $51 debacle. Apparently the doctor chose to administer a procedure that, unbeknownst to me, was not covered by my insurance. I scheduled a "healthy you" appointment (it was supposed to be free because the insurance company figures that if they spend a little on my preventative care now, they will have to spend MUCH less in responsive care later, which makes sense) trusting the doctor's office, who has collaborated with my insurance company to provide this care, would know what to administer and what not to administer. However, when the doctor's office doesn't play by the rules, then I AM held responsible by the insurance company. This angers me, even if it is only $51.

So the whole thing makes me wonder why I need anything more than bare-bones catastrophic health insurance in the event that I have a client come after me with a chain saw, or I need stitches after laying down my bike.

I guess what it comes down to is that I'm healthy, and I care about staying that way. Maybe if more people took this approach, and used the health department rather than the emergency room, Obama could focus on issues of national importance, like how to make post-secondary EDUCATION more affordable.

Heart of Dixie Triathlon

Heat…hills…pain…lost equipment…This race had been built up so much by those who have done it in the past that I was a bit anxious about how everything would go for our first time. However, with the exception of poorly organized transportation back to the start (it is a point-to-point race so you finish about 35 miles away from where you began) and some unfortunate/scary experiences for me on the bike and run (more on that later), the day turned out to be our best race so far! Never did see any real "hills"...some of these MS people need to spend some time in the mountains!

Anyway, we were both very excited about our results. Charles placed 6th out of 31 in his super competitive age group, quite an impressive accomplishment! He had a solid .5 mile swim, cranked out 23.3mph on the bike (love that new aero helmet!), and breezed through the 7 mile run averaging 6:49 min miles, the fastest he said he’s run since high school. I was 1st in my age group and 5th woman overall after a decent swim (need to work on being ok with swimming closer to people in open water because I end up adding distance by taking wide turns), my fastest bike average ever of 21.9mph, and also my fastest run ever, averaging 7:22 min miles. I am now convinced that speedwork really does improve running speed because I shaved 35 sec/mile off my run time as compared to what I did in June at the Heatwave. We were both encouraged that all the training we have been doing this spring and summer paid off. (photo above is Charles, body marked, feeling strong, ready to rest up for the big race! I don't have too many "normal" shots of him...)

Now a few fun stories from my race since it seems it was more eventful than what Charles experienced! After an uneventful swim (always thankful for open water swims where I avoid getting kicked in the face), I ran up to the chaos that was the transition area. I think what this race taught me more than anything is the importance of having triathlon-specific equipment, for example bike shoes that you leave clipped on your pedals and put on while beginning the ride as opposed to my current method of having to put on my mountain bike shoes (and socks…ugh, more on the unfortunate sock experience in a minute) while standing in the transition area. This not only slows down the transition time, but also proved to be nearly impossible in the ridiculously cramped grassy space that held all 400+bikes. I could hardly bend over without knocking into the bike behind me, and the bike next to mine was so close that I could barely even reach my shoes on the ground by my bike because the handlebars were so tight. Dude beside me was like “well, at least we’re all being friendly all packed in here!” I was like, “um, yeah, about to get unfriendly if you don’t hurry up and get your bike out!” So after 1:30, I was finally on the road (fast people do transitions in less than 1:00).

The big rule in the bike leg of triathlons is no drafting which is fine unless you happen to come out of the transition area with someone who is going to ride at about the same speed as you are. Mr. Orange and I did just that (he was wearing a bright orange top, thus Mr. Orange). We went back and forth passing each other at least ten times on the 27.5 mile bike ride. He was driving me crazy because he would accelerate to pass me (usually on the downhill…bigger dudes go down a bit faster than I do!) and then just quit pedaling. So then I’d have to accelerate to pass him to avoid ending up in his draft zone, and on and on it went. He got ahead of me near the end, but then we came up a steeper hill where I flew by him and a whole other group of guys (that’s my favorite part…passing people on the ups!) He was at least friendly about it and told me “nice ride” when we got to transition #2.

Other than playing leap-frog on the bike, I had near-crash #2 in two weeks around mile 20. About two weeks ago on our Tuesday night race ride, we were heading down Hwy 22 when the guy 2 bikes ahead of me touched wheels with the guy in front of him because some guy in front of him touched the brakes unexpectedly...so the two right in front of me go down, skidding across the road and flipping over each other, and somehow I made it through the wreckage without going down as well, though I swear I must have been within inches of running over someone or someone's bike. It was very scary to say the least. So then, during this race, as the road veered off to the right at one point, the guy a bit in front of me was riding along the shoulder. As I was getting ready to pass him, he came back on the road, but because the shoulder was a bit lower than the road, he caught his wheels on the uneven pavement, flew up in the air, and skidded out on his side right in front of me! AHHH! Again, somehow I avoided hitting him. Needless to say, I was a bit shaken up for the next mile or so.

I was most concerned about the run part of this race because I typically do not run well in the heat. Thankfully, it was much cooler than usual. Everything was going fine until about mile 4 when my feet started reminding me that running in wet socks is a BAD idea. My socks were so wet because I made the terrible mistake of putting them on during T1 not T2 when I would have been dry from the swim. Because this race is a point-to-point, they take your bag of run stuff from the start to T2 for you, and I was concerned that if by chance my socks got lost, it would be a bad day (not that having them turned out to be much better...) One day I will be a real triathlete and run without socks, but until then, I will remember to put them on during T2. So miles 4 and 5 were starting to get painful because of the rubbing on my arches, and by mile 6 when we turned off the road onto the dirt road through the fairgrounds to get to the final mile on the horse track, I thought for sure my feet were going to rub right off. The uneven dirt on the track was especially painful, but I cranked out that last mile and immediately hobbled over to the medical tent after the finish so that they put some blister pads and tape on my feet. I then walked around barefoot with taped arches until we got back to the hotel to get my flip flops. Ouch.

Getting back to the hotel was the only really frustrating part of the day. The Sertoma Club provided transportation, but rather than leaving at 9:30am as they said it would, we didn't leave until about 10:15, making it impossible to drive 35 miles to the start, get our car, shower, check out, pick up our bikes, and drive 35 miles back to the finish in time for the 11am awards ceremony. I was disappointed to have missed it, but the afternoon was redeemed by the time we got to spend with our good friends, Abigail and Les, who were kind enough to invite us over to their cabin to have lunch with them and their family. The Neshoba County Fair (where the race ends on the track) is an interesting place. I think it was the largest collection of confederate flags I've ever seen. Established in 1889 and also known as "Mississippi's Giant Houseparty," the fair lasts for a week, and there are hundreds of cabins around the main track that families have owned for decades. The rest of the year they just sit empty, but it seems like everyone has a great time at this "family camp" type place for that week! It is the nation's largest campground fair. The fair has all the usual fair activities like rides, but it is also a political forum for state and local politicians to make speeches in the square. As a random bit of info, I just read that Ronald Reagan even gave a post-convention speech there on "state's rights" in August 1980, promising to restore power to state and local governments (rather controversial in a county where one of the most heinous civil rights crimes occurred: the KKK murder of 3 civil rights workers during the summer of 1964). And there's a little history lesson with the race report for all you info-gatherers like me.

Charles and I are now training for a new kind of endurance event: packing to move. For those of you who haven't heard, we are moving to Harrisonburg, VA, on Monday, August 24th! This post is ridiculously long already, so I won't go into details right now, but stay tuned for more updates in the coming weeks. Until then...keep your socks dry and have a good day!

It was UDDERly aMOOsing

Just for a laugh, here are some pictures from Cow Appreciation Day which Charles and I celebrated last Friday. Who wouldn't dress up like a cow to get free food? We even got our friend Matt to come along!




And yes, those are "udders" made from blown up medical gloves...Charles said this was great practice for down the road when our children need a costume created quickly or have to do some crazy school project. We are experts at living out the first aid motto of "do what you can with what you have where you are!"