Day 6/365: Prayer and Meditation

Posted by BecomingBetty

I spend a period of time each day in prayer and in meditation. I set aside time each day for each of these practices. I am not a theologian or a guru. I have found, though, that prayer and meditation complement each other and add a great deal to my life.

I have heard it said that prayer is talking to God, and meditation is listening for the answers. That may be an oversimplification, but I like the sentiment.

The first thing I do in the morning, before I get out of bed, is to give thanks for another day of life. If my husband is in bed, I check if he is breathing and give thanks for that, too. I (silently) say “this is the day that the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it,” and then I wake up my 16-year-old son and round up the dogs.

I go to sleep at night (literally) counting my blessings and giving thanks for the many people and things that bring joy into my life. I don’t view God as a vending machine in the sky that doles out favors in exchange for prayer tokens. I don’t spend much prayer time asking for specific blessings. I do, however, seek answers. I ask for inspiration, and I receive it.

I attempt to spend 15 – 20 minutes each morning in meditation. I have some recordings that i like to use to get into a meditative state of mind. It seems my mind is always working on one question or another, and it is difficult to reach a place where I can just “be” instead of “doing.”

I have learned to keep a pad of paper and a pen handy when I meditate because ideas just pop into my mind. Without my mind planning projects or worrying about details, I am free to simply breathe in and out and listen for inspiration and answers – or just to relax and enjoy life.

There are many free meditation apps for iPhone and Android that are useful tools to help you learn to meditate. Although it’s cold in Ohio as I write (1 degrees F, brrrr), when the weather is warn, there is nothing that I enjoy more than sitting in nature with my eyes closed and just simply observing the sounds of nature and the sensations of the sun and the breeze as they touch my skin. In these moments I can truly disconnect from the wear and tear of life’s distractions and allow God to speak.

What’s in a Name?

Posted by BecomingBetty

If you’ve followed my little blog for any time, you’ve read before that I am an adopted person. I was born in June of 1967. I didn’t go home from the hospital with my family or origin, but my birth mother didn’t sign papers to give me up until September, so I entered a kind of legal limbo as ward of the State.

When the legal documents allowing it were finally signed, I went home with a family where I was given a name, kind of like when you take home a puppy, I suppose.

I arrived with a handwritten note about things I liked and disliked, but nothing about a name. Nothing about the names of the people who gave me up or the people who cared for me for those first months. I was devoid of history – and identity.

I’ve given birth to three children. Each time one of them has reached that e-month mark, I’ve marveled at their budding personalities. They’ve known me. They’ve trusted me. They’ve listened to me coo their names thousands of times. They have known who they are.

My mom and dad gave me a name. They named me after my mom’s sister. We shared both first and middle names. She was called by our first name, and to distinguish us I was called by first and middle names.

As an older adolescent, I asked people to drop the middle name. It sounded too “country.” I imagined myself more sophisticated than that name – think “Petticoat Junction,” if you’re old enough to remember that kind of thing.

My Aunt and I had a special relationship growing up. She had no children of her own, and so having a child named after her was an honor that she seemed to really enjoy.

As I’ve aged, I’ve used that middle name more often. I long to be more “country.” You can take the girl out of the country and all that jazz.

My birth mother and I found each other on the internet around 20 years ago. I asked her for my birth name, but she didn’t think I had been given one. I didn’t think much about it at the time. That chapter of searching for answers brought more unanswered questions, and I eventually found it too painful to continue. I sent her a birthday gift this year but she never acknowledged it. It was kind of sappy. I bought two teacups in a second hand store. I sent her one set and kept the other so that we could sip a cup of tea together, but apart.

I turned 49 a few weeks ago. I’ve lived nearly half a century with the name I was given at the age of 3 months and until today, it never bothered me that I didn’t know my “first” name.

Ohio passed legislation a couple of years ago that allows me to request a copy of my adoption file with my original birth certificate. I downloaded the form this morning. It will only cost $20.00 to see if I ever had a name. I filled out the form, but it requires notarization and I haven’t decided if I ‘m motivated enough to go to the trouble.

I have a feeling that when the documents come, I’ll discover that I’m the original “Baby Girl,” (eat your hearts out Criminal Minds fans). I’ll still be me. The diplomas on my wall and my driver license will still match the identity that I have formed. It would be nice, though, when that inner child cries out to know what name to coo to her to bring comfort.

My cousin told me today that I wear my aunt’s name well, and that made me very happy. She was a special person, and sharing her name is an honor. This longing isn’t about her death, I don’t think, although that event brought it to the surface. It was a catalyst, not a cause.

I don’t know a lot about many things, but I know a little about a lot of things. I just write what I know.

~Be~

Perfect Sense(s)?

Posted by BecomingBetty

12983773_10154170302648223_4397169664801694898_o Over the past six months or so, my life has been enriched through the use of essential oils. I’ve read some of the science behind them, but to be honest I really don’t understand *how* they work. I just know that for me they *do* work. This post isn’t really about that, though.

I’ve been fighting a cold / sinus infection for a week. The essential oils have been helping me feel a little better than I usually do, but yesterday, something changed. I made a batch of essential oil-laced bath bombs to share. I opened my favorite essential oil – the one that I call happiness in a bottle – and took a whiff. Nothing. I held it up to the light to see if perhaps the bottle was empty. It was half full. I opened the next bottle and again, nothing.

Although I was feeling congested, I was still able to breathe in through my nose. I opened the cinnamon and the peppermint – odorless. I opened the peanut butter. Nothing.

Confused, I ran to consult “Doctor Google.” He said that anosmia (the absence of the sense of smell) has a number of causes, not the least of which is sinus infection and nasal congestion. I flushed my sinuses with my neti pot. Still nothing.

i lamented to my husband that the I wouldn’t be able to taste the dinner that I had planned. Graciously, he suggested that I save my labor for another day and offered to feed himself and the “boys.” I ate my flavorless baked potato and a salad. If not for the varied textures, I’m not sure that I would have been able to differentiate between them.

Back to Dr. Google, I wondered if perhaps my neti pot could damage my sense of smell. I came upon a discussion thread filled with individuals who had been living without their sense of small (and sense of taste) for long period of time. One professional chef related how she had battled depression. Life just wasn’t as vibrant without tasting and smelling.

I thought back to my essential oils. After battling anxiety for years, I’ve found something that really helps me. My emotional aromatherapy is something that I not only enjoy – it helps me feel and think “better.” If this anosmia were to persist, how would I go back to “before?”

I ate some flavorless popcorn as I watched television with my husband. At the suggestion of a friend, I stuck some basil essential oil up my nose. It cleared my sinuses, but I couldn’t smell it. I gave a longing look at the essential oil diffuser in the bedroom and debated as to whether or not I should turn it on. Would it help me drift off to sleep ifI couldn’t smell it?

I woke up this morning and still couldn’t smell a thing. I couldn’t “wake up and smell the coffee.” I started feeling pretty sorry for myself, to tell the truth.

If I had to give up a sense, which would it be? I couldn’t imagine not seeing a sunrise or hearing music. Without touch, how would I avoid injury? Before this experience, I suppose I might have said “smell,” but I find myself rethinking that position. Taste protects us from consuming spoiled foods and makes life richer. Smell and taste go together, I have discovered.

We depend upon our sense of smell to warn us of danger – fire, smoke, spoiled food. what a marvelous creation the human body is. These five senses work so perfectly together to keep us safe – to enrich or lives.

As I pondered the senses, I doused the tiny ants that had made their way into my kitchen with a spray of white vinegar and peppermint essential oil. Suddenly, the acrid smell of vinegar penetrated my head and I smiled.

I ran to unmold the bath bombs and my head was filled with the odor of “joy” (yes, joy has a smell).

Today, I give thanks for a world filled with smells and tastes, touches and sights and sounds. It all makes perfect sense.

Just write what you know.

love,

~Be~

The $600 Washcloth

Posted by BecomingBetty

I like to crochet. It is a great way to occupy my hands in the evening when I watch television with my husband. It’s hard to eat popcorn when your hands are full of yarn. I am also a “gifter.” I love to give little gifts. I like to gift what I make, as well. For the past several years, I have crocheted warm scarves in the winter time. Most of my family members have (at least) one. I have at least 20 of them stacked on a shelf in case I need a gift for someone on short notice. They are great to make in the winter, but when the weather gets warm, I usually stop crocheting.

This year, I discovered cotton yarn. I’ve discovered the joy of making face cloths, scrubbies, and dish cloths. I love to make them in bright colors. They make me happy.

I can buy a perfectly nice washcloth at the store for $4.00. I can buy a deluxe washcloth for $10 – $15. I can buy a handmade washcloth just like the ones I am making on Etsy for under $10. Depending on the stitch, these washcloths take me 3-4 hours to make. The materials cost $1 – $2 depending on which brand of yarn I buy and whether or not it is on sale.

When I am making washcloths, I can’t earn money as a lawyer. I suppose, in that regard these pretty little pieces of hand-made fabric that will soon be stained with makeup or food are pretty expensive. However, I’m a believer in doing more of what makes me happy.

Crocheting washcloths is almost a form of meditation for me. I don’t have to think beyond the next stitch. The feel of the yarn and the rhythm are comforting. The bright colors are uplifting. There’s nothing about this little activity I don’t enjoy, and it’s cheaper than therapy.

As I mentioned before, I’m a gifter. If you find yourself the recipient of one or more of these $600 washcloths, you can be sure that I like you, and that I think you, too, deserve a $600 washcloth, and a whole lot more.

love,

~Be~

A lamp for my feet – a light on my path

Posted by BecomingBetty

I just came home from vacation this week. It was a wonderful week of activity, people watching, and enjoying nature. I’ve been running for about a year and a half now. I run mostly in Ohio, and mostly in an area that is very flat. We have a few hills, but you really need to go out of your way to get to most of them. As a result, my runs have very little elevation change. I also tend to run in the early evening, while it’s still quite light out (and the bugs aren’t too bad). Although summer just ended, as summers go it wasn’t terribly hot in Ohio. All in all, it’s been a mild, pleasant summer for a novice runner.

As we were planning our vacation, I scouted for running events that would fit our timeline. I discovered the Twilight Lake Las Vegas run and signed up for the 10K distance (they had 5k, 10k and half marathon available).

I took a very bad fall a few years back that left me with a leg broken in 4 places with a full complement of hardware installed to keep my skeleton together. Although my balance has improved significantly since I began running and doing #DDPYoga, it still isn’t one of the strengths.

The day of the race, we started walking from our hotel of the Vegas Strip to the Avis office a mile or so away. I stepped off a curb and landed on my knees and elbows. While I wasn’t badly injured, it hurt. My knees and hands were scuffed up, and I had fallen on the knees that has the worst arthritis of the pair. We kept going and picked up the rental car. We left Las Vegas and drove to Hoover Dam where our hotel was located. We did some sightseeing and checked into our room. It was 108 degrees. I’ve heard it said that “dry heat” is cooler than the humid heat we have in Ohio, but no matter how you look at it, 108 degrees is HOT.

I spent the time leading up to the race hydrating and fueling. My training plan fell apart in the weeks leading up to the race, and although I wasn’t concerned about being able to cover the distance, I knew I wasn’t going to be fast. I grabbed a cooling towel and we headed to packet pickup. We drove through the Lake Mead area and enjoyed the views, stopping at multiple scenic overlooks. The red rocks and landscape seemed so alien compared to the lush Lake Erie landscape that I’m so accustomed to.

My husband dropped me off at the start line and drove back to enjoy Lake Mead some more. The half marathon runners lined up first. Their race began at 6:30 p.m. I listened to the directions – make sure you have a flashlight or a head lamp. The course is unlit. I checked the lights in my trusty ball cap with “head lights.” They functioned. I decided I was good to go.

The half marathoners were off, and the 10K runners lined up. The run was just starting to dim. It was still quite hot, but not as hot as it had been moments before. I tested the injured knee – no bad pain. I re-tied my shoes and took a last chug out of my water bottle before recycling it. The horn sounded and we began.

The course was paved and pretty wide. As it wound through the desert landscape, I saw succulent plants. I wondered if there were snakes, scorpions, or other critters out there. I’m a “back of the pack” runner, and this race was no exception. As I neared the 1.5 mile mark, some of the fastest 5K participants passed me. Soon, I was all alone. The 5K runners had turned around, and most of the 10K runners were ahead of me.

I watched the sun set, and I turned on my “high beams.” I was dismayed. Although that hat was great for letting people know that I’m out there on the road, it really wasn’t a great light source. I ran off the edge of the path once and resolved to stay closer to the middle to avoid matching hardware in the other ankle. As the course progressed, my eyes became accustomed to the dark. Although I couldn’t see well, I could at least see the path.

A volunteer told me to turn left “Everyone goes up the hill.” Wow. What a hill. I wasn’t prepared for this. I made it up the hill, huffing and puffing. I went back down the other side and soon found myself running near a freeway. The oncoming headlights, while a safe distance away, destroyed my night vision, and I was soon stumbling along the edge of the path again.

My cooling towel began to dry out. I got hot. Then, I heard something I couldn’t identify and I got scared. I began to question the wisdom of signing up for this hilly race in the desert with no lights. I began to question my ability to run the distance. What if there were a rattlesnake on the path enjoying the warmth? I wouldn’t be able to see it. What if I fell and nobody found me?

An aid station was in the distance. I stopped for water and a volunteer asked if I would like my cooling towel re-soaked. Gratefully, I said “yes.” I finished the water. I wrapped the cold towel around my neck, and I took a few deep breaths.

As I began to run again, I felt a sense of calm. As my overheated body began to cool down, the words of a praise chorus I used to sing while playing the piano came to mind.

Although the sky didn’t get brighter (and neither did the lights on my cap), I felt a sense of calm wash over me as I sang the words quietly. I looked out at the horizon and saw the lights of Las Vegas. As the trail turned away from the freeway again, the quiet desert greeted me again. The course turned downhill. The going was easier. There was a lightness in my step.

As I passed the 5K turnaround again, I saw a woman who was laboring heavily to get to that mark. She had a wonderful team of supporters there to encourage her. I remembered my first tentative running steps at over 300 pounds. I remembered the difficulty and the fear. I tried my best to encourage her as I passed her on my way back to the finish. Soon thereafter I encountered another struggling runner with a walker. She, too, was accompanied by friends. Although I was running unaccompanied, I wasn’t alone. There in the dark, all I had to do was cry out for comfort. My “support team” was there, guiding my steps.

I crossed the finish and collected my medal. I grabbed some snacks and a cool water while I waited for my husband to collect me. I don’t know if I’ll do another night time run, but if I do, I’ll have a brighter headlamp, and I’ll remember that although I may be the only runner in sight, I am never truly alone.

The Secret Ingredient to Major Life Changes

Posted by BecomingBetty

My invisible (online) friends are awesome. We know the painful secrets we don’t tell the people in our real lives. We lament the difficulties of dieting in our secret facebook group. We have supported each other through divorces and miscarriages, puppies and empty nests.

This week I saw one of them post in our secret group reserved just for motivating each other on our fitness journeys. It read,

You keep getting smaller and I keep getting bigger. I hate myself

Eureka! That’s the problem!

I’m going to let you in on the secret ingredient for successfully making a major change in your life. I’m not going to charge you a million dollars – not a red cent. I’m going to give you the gift of the knowledge that took me 48 years to learn.

Are you ready?

[drumroll]

You cannot make lasting, drastic changes in your life when you hate yourself. You must love yourself. That is the secret.

Think about it! If you hate someone, the energy you spend on that person is not utilized to build them up or make them better. Hatred, loathing, and disrespect for someone lead to destruction. Hatred causes us to focus in the wrong way.

In order to lose 100+ pounds, I have had to make some major life changes. Some have required a lot of time. Others have required a lot of money. Still others have required me to put my feelings above someone else’s.

To lose weight and get healthy, I have devoted hundreds of hours to running and working out. Those are hours I could have used many other ways. To make that kind of time, I had to put myself first. I had to learn to say no to other things. If I hated myself, it would be far easier to convince myself that I’m not worth the time away from my family that it takes to be active.

I have had to change the way that I eat. I love myself enough to cook whole foods from scratch – another 8 to 10 hours per week (not including grocery shopping). I cook according to my food plan – not according to my family’s food preferences. They are welcome to add or subtract from my menu, but I don’t cook what I can’t eat. I love myself enough to ensure that the food in my house is healthy and wholesome. If I hated myself, I could continue to sabotage myself by buying processed and prepared foods. Buying whole foods is often more expensive than buying junk. I love myself to spend the extra money to buy the food that I need.

I love myself enough to risk hurting someone’s feelings when they offer me food that isn’t on my meal plan.

I love myself enough to spend the money to buy proper equipment to avoid injury while I run. I economize in other areas of my life in order to afford good running shoes, a GPS watch and fees for races.

This is the third time in my life that I have lost 100 pounds. The difference this time is that I love myself. I don’t hate my body. I don’t hate my loose skin or my stretch marks. I love the person I am. I love the person I am becoming, and I value the lessons that I learned through being morbidly obese.

The secret ingredient to successfully making a major change is love. You must love yourself enough to put in the work to achieve the goal.

Count your Blessings

Posted by BecomingBetty

Prayer and meditation are important to me. I’ll admit, though, that I am easily distracted. I start praying and the dog barks or the neighbors’ kids laugh, and I’m instantly thinking about something else. I’m one of those people who need tools to focus.

I began a new routine today, one that I hope to stick to. I began by writing in my journal – the one saved for positive thoughts and positive memories. This act of recognizing peace, beauty and blessings in my life helped to get me into the proper mindset for part two, which was literally counting my blessings.

Some time ago I purchased a Mala, which is traditionally a Hindu or Buddhist tool for meditation. I purchased it for its beauty, and it resides in my special space. Today I picked up that Mala and tried it as a tool to focus for my prayer practice. Holding the tassel, I began my prayer by thanking God for the many blessings in my life, including my family and my improved health. I asked God to bless the people in my life and asked that as I said each name, that He would bless that person with joy, hope, peace and health, and to bring into their life anything that they needed.

There are 108 smaller beads on the mala. As the string of beads slipped through my fingers one at a time, the names of 108 people in my life came to me, one after another. 108 blessings. I know about the struggles in some of their lives, and as those names came to me, I prayed for those situations. Others I simply prayed that their lives would be filled with the blessings that they bring into my life.

I had no mental “prayer list.” The names and faces came into my mind one after another. I was somewhat surprised by some of the names that came to mind. Some were people who had hurt me, and along with praying for blessings for them, I prayed for help to forgive long-ago hurts.

108 people, 108 prayers, 108 blessings. As I closed my prayer, I thanked God for such a rich life. I thought it would be hard to come up with 108 people to pray for, but as I write this, the names and faces keep coming.

My life is blessed – truly blessed.

That Kind of Friend

Posted by BecomingBetty

I consider myself extremely fortunate. I have a large body of friends, some of whom I see in real life only a handful of times in a year, some I see twice in a decade, and some of whom I have met only in online forums. Friends from all of these categories have cheered me on as I discovered running, shed some pounds, and approached life with a renewed joy. Others aren’t part of my online universe at all.

Recently I had a meeting with one such friend. The last time I saw him, 4-5 months ago, he said, “there’s something different about you…oh, you cut off your long hair. I like it short. It looks good!” I didn’t tell him that it went beyond that – that I had shed 50+ pounds and trained for a half marathon. I simply thanked him for the compliment and we continued our meeting.

Several weeks ago business took me back to his office. This time he said, “there’s STILL something different about you. What did you do?” When I told him that I had lost nearly 100 pounds, he asked how I did it. We commiserated about growing older and expanding waistlines, elevated blood pressure and climbing blood sugar levels. The next week when I returned, his wife dropped by to see my changes for myself and to give me a huge hug.

Yesterday I saw a friend who had been missing from my real life world for five years. I was delighted that I could keep up with this young, fit woman. We climbed stairs at a museum and strolled the halls as we chatted as if we’d seen each other only the day before. At one point in the day, I mentioned how wonderful it was to be able to climb stairs without pain and without being out of breath. I mentioned that when we last saw each other, my weight had climbed to nearly 350 pounds. She said she had no idea. To her, I was just “Betty.” I was just her friend.

I’m extremely grateful for the encouragement that I receive from my online community. Some days, a comment or a like can make the difference between giving myself an excuse to have an extra snack or skipping a workout or holding myself accountable. Those friendly interactions are extremely valuable to me. Some people discovered me because I have made changes. Those people are valuable. Some people follow me because they want to make changes themselves, and I value that opportunity.

However, I know that I have a special person in my life when I can pick up after 5 years and have an afternoon where conversation flows freely. In those rare friendships, differences in age, differences in size, differences in experience don’t change the core of the bond. I was always just “Betty.” I remain just “Betty.”

I can’t imagine ever being 300+ pounds again and struggling with life the way that I did. It’s a beautiful gift to know that I had and still have so many people in my life who saw beyond the “insulation” and valued me for who I have always been inside. That kind of friend cared about me before I learned to love myself. I hope that you all have that kind of friend. I strive to be that kind of friend, as well.

Love,

They Call it the Present Because it’s a Gift

Posted by BecomingBetty

There is no time like the present. I really mean that. Right now is the time to start doing whatever it is that you know that you need to do but have been avoiding. You may think it’s too big. You may think you’re not ready. Whatever idea it is that you have in your head that’s holding you back, get RID of it.

I’ve spent pretty much my entire adult life being overweight, obese, or morbidly obese. I’ve used every excuse out there. I can justify anything. I’m the master procrastinator. I’d go see my doctor and he’d bug me about my weight. My line was always, “One thing at a time. I’ll deal with (fill in the blank), and then I’ll work on the weight.”

I dealt with the broken leg, the thyroid, the illness and death of several people close to me, undergrad, law school, setting up a law practice, and countless crises that come with the territory of being a wife, mother and human being. When I had bloodwork, my numbers were good. Although I was borderline hypertensive, my A1C and lipids were good. I prided myself on being “healthy fat.” I had a love affair with Ballreich’s potato chips and anything sweet or salty.

Just about a year ago I was sitting at my office conference table with three friends who were in my Rotary Club. We were discussing what needed to happen and how to get things rolling. As one of my colleagues was talking, I realized that the room was fading. I broke into a cold sweat. My heart was doing weird jumpy things, and I couldn’t concentrate. I considered asking one of my friends to call my husband to take me to the hospital. I was feeling that strange. However, I said nothing. I concluded the meeting, went upstairs to my office and collapsed into my chair. I was chilled and clammy. I wondered if I was sick or dying, and at the moment, I wasn’t sure if I cared. Life wasn’t much fun. I had a hard time moving on the best of days. I was tired of watching the people who I cared about get sick and die.

Whatever happened was happening to me passed. I went about my business and finished up the day. I didn’t pass out, die, or get sicker. I also didn’t say anything to anyone about what had happened. In retrospect, it was probably an anxiety attack, but in that moment it felt like death was knocking at the door.

I got up the next morning and realized that something had to change. I had put off going to the doctor because I didn’t want to have the conversation about my weight. I hadn’t been on a scale in months. I don’t know exactly how heavy I was, but it was a big scary number, and it was only one of my problems.

I posted in a Facebook group full of ladies I met on another internet site that I was having some troubles in my life that had me feeling very discouraged. One of those ladies suggested I look for a group called Moms Run This Town. She said that not only would I feel better getting some running in, but the other ladies would be great listeners as I worked through my issues. I thanked her, and laughed silently at the thought of me running anywhere.

Over the course of the next week or two, more people suggested I try running. One offered to train with me for a 5K race. Although we lived miles apart, and the training together would be virtual, I agreed to give it a try. That night I put on my walking shoes and dusted off the treadmill. I walked a mile. It took a good, long time, but it felt good.

I remembered a line from The Shawshank Redemption. Red said, “get busy living, or get busy dying.” I decided to get busy living. I’d been just simply going through the motions for far too long.

When I first started exercising, it felt like I would never be able to “run” a mile without stopping. In those first weeks, I spent lots of time holding on to the side rails of the treadmill and supporting a good part of my weight with my arms. Still, I faithfully got on that treadmill night after night.

Time passed, and I got up the courage to go to a running store for a pair of real running shoes. They didn’t laugh at me. I didn’t get sarcastic comments or rude remarks. I left the store with a box with a pair of shoes that cost a good chunk of change and I vowed not to let them gather dust in the closet. I vowed that if God would just let me live long enough to undo some of the damage I had done to my body, I would enjoy life again.

As I progressed, I left the safety of the house for the high school track and then trails at local parks. I began participating in 5K and 10K races. I marvelled as a doe and fawn watched me run. I came alive listening to the sounds of nature. I began looking for new places to run. I visited parks and neighborhoods in my town that I had never been to in the 15 years that I have lived here.

I’ve listened to music of every genre, waved at hundreds of strangers, learned to enjoy a good sweaty run, and I’ve enjoyed (nearly) every moment of it. I’ve learned that chocolate tastes better if you have to run a mile to earn a piece, and that potato chips are still my kryptonite.

Since that day in March 2014, I have run over 450 miles. Today, I ran a half marathon on the indoor track at my gym. In two weeks, I will repeat that feat at Walt Disney World dressed as Ursula from The Little Mermaid. I can hardly wait. I’m still 100 pounds overweight, but I can run a half marathon.

I’ve done a lot of reviewing the past year. What does it have to do with the present? I’m still here. I’m healthier than I’ve been in years. I’m happier than I’ve been in years. My life is still not perfect, but life is sweeter because I received a wakeup call. Only when I thought that I might possibly be dying did I realize how sweet life really is. I don’t take my life for granted any longer. I want to live long enough to dance at the grandchildren’s weddings. I want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane on my 65th birthday. None of those experiences are promised. Life is sweet and it can be cut short in a moment. When you “get busy living,” every moment, even the sad ones, is a gift.

I don’t know what you’re struggling with. I don’t know what battle you are waging and which side is winning. I do know that whatever you want to happen, there is no better time than right now to start doing something about it. If you want to lose weight, get up and walk right now. Don’t wait until Monday to start your exercise program. If you want to write a book, grab your pen and write an outline. If you want to learn to play Rhapsody in Blue, get up and play the first page as slow as you have to play it to get all of the fingers in the right place.

If you want to run a half marathon, put one on the calendar. Pay the registration. Recruit a partner.

There is no time like the present. Tomorrow is not promised. You will never regret starting right now. A year from now you’ll wonder why you waited so long. I promise.

Simple Gifts

Posted by BecomingBetty

Years ago I read a book called “The Five Love Languages” by Dr. Gary Chapman. Through Dr. Chapman’s book, I learned several valuable lessons about myself and about my relationships, both past and present. I learned that my primary love language is gifts. I love to give gifts. It is one of the primary ways that I show others that I love them. I love to receive gifts, too. When someone takes the time to find and give me something that they feel I would enjoy, it makes me feel quite cared for.

My husband is not naturally a “gifts” person. He is an “acts of service person,” meaning he expresses his love by doing for others. (He makes me coffee every morning and does all of my laundry for me). He feels loved when I make him dinner or do work that benefits his office.

We recently had a conversation about our love languages. Somehow, I had failed previously to convey that a gift need not be expensive or complicated to make me feel loved. I gave him the example of the french-milled “real” soaps that I love. While they may be expensive for “just soap,” in the grand scheme of gifts, they are a BARGAIN at $3.00 – $5.00. I had a new bar of soap in my hands moments later, and I have enjoyed it immensely.

A sales rep that I had not seen in many years learned from my secretary that I can’t eat gluten, so her usual gift of bagels was something that I could not consume. She took the time to ask my secretary what I enjoy. My secretary told her that I love tea, and gave her some examples of the types of tea that I enjoy. The sales rep came to our appointment with a beautiful gift bag full of some of my favorite teas. I felt cared for. It cemented my relationship with her company.

Speaking of secretaries…I have the best. Knowing my love for tea, she lovingly trots across the parking lot to the little coffee shop across the street on a regular basis to bring me back a hot cup of earl gray or English breakfast tea. Although I have a huge stash of tea here at the office, she brings me a cup that someone else prepared.

As our family has grown, a large part of our family Christmas has become the exchange of homemade gifts. I’ve enjoyed homemade cheesecake, homemade vanilla extract, gorgeous plates of cookies, gluten-free brownies, handcrafted wine, and lovingly crocheted doilies and afghans.

There is no greater way for me to relax than to sit in the “zen den” that my husband lovingly created just for me and wrap myself in the loving hug of an afghan crocheted by my mother while sipping a cup of tea brewed from a gift out of a teacup chosen just for me.

Thoughtful gifts are becoming a lost art as gift cards become a common place item. I’ve been guilty many times of dashing to the store at the last minute for a fistful of plastic cards. This year I’m going to remember to keep it simple and give thoughtful gifts that my loved ones can enjoy throughout the year.

While there’s nothing wrong with presenting an elaborate or expensive gift if your budget supports it, I love the simple gifts. Kids… you’re off the hook!