i'm still here... sort of.

In the book I'm reading, the author wrote of the years he waited for a wife, "Now that I look back, it seems to me that in all that deep darkness a miracle was preparing. So I am right to remember it as a blessed time, and myself as waiting in confidence, even if I had no idea what I was waiting for." I've been waiting an awful lot these days, for a number of things. This author implies that what he was waiting for would be divinely given, and that even the time he waited for it was somehow part of a plan of sorts. There was a day not too long ago when I would have absolutely agreed with this idea. But if I'm honest with myself, I really don't know how much divine influence pushes us along, holds us back, or brings new things into view. I was watching the newest U2 concert DVD last night, and during one of the songs, a phrase appeared on the huge backdrop behind the band. It said, "Everything you know is wrong." On some level, I have to admit that I believe there's a lot of truth in that statement. I am elbow-deep in questions about what I thought I knew about God, relationships, ideals . . . It's one of the reasons I haven't been writing on my blog. I have so many questions and random thoughts darting in and out of my mind. When I consider writing an entire entry about one thought, it feels overwhelming, and I throw in the towel before I've even attempted to work through my scatteredness.

Today I realized that it's better to even post those random thoughts than to continue to neglect my writing. But of course, now I can't even remember what any of those thoughts were.

Oh wait -- here's one: I am so thankful to have a husband who surprises me so well. I came home to find a keyboard in the living room the other night. Been playing it ever since. These fingers are a bit rusty, but they loosen up quickly.

my hero

I know it sounds silly, but I have such a new admiration and respect for my husband since he finished a full marathon this past Sunday. His trusty legs carried him over the Golden Gate bridge, up and down the hills of San Francisco and back to the Embarcadero by the bay. I kept tabs on where he was with his text messages and met him at a couple of mile markers to cheer him on and take some photos. It was the hardest thing he's ever done. The first words out of his mouth after he crossed the finish line were, "I'm never doing that again." I rushed around to the food booths, snatching up any bit of nourishment I could find. I handed him a cheese quesadilla, and he threw it on the ground. I can't blame him -- what's a cheese quesadilla doing in the post-marathon refreshments selection? Anyway, I took some photos along the course and by the finish line so we could share them with all of you.