Climbing ROCKS!

Sometimes there just aren't enough rocks.

I went rock climbing today with my friend Dane, and I came to a number of conclusions:

1. I need to pump more iron.

2. Life is a lot like rock climbing.

3. Good friends are always there for you.

4. Harnesses are flattering on no one.

Now to explain...

1. I know what you might be thinking: "Nat, your biceps are HUGE! How could you need to make them any stronger?!" Well, dear friends, it's possible that even my arms need a little help. I remember when I was growing up, my dad always used to tell me I needed to be able to do at least one pull-up. He would ask: "What are you going to do if you're hanging off of a cliff and have to pull yourself up?" While I don't see that happening anytime soon (or ever), Skipper's advice would have come in handy today.

2. At an indoor rock climbing facility, there are so many different choices of walls you can climb. On each wall, there are a variety of paths you can take, and someone else who climbs the very same wall might go a completely different route. Some walls you can scale quite quickly and easily without really thinking about what rock you're going to grab next; others take careful thought and consideration, and you really have to focus on where your hands and feet will go next. No matter how difficult the climb, however, there is always the possibility of you losing your footing and falling. The good news is that you have a belayer who is there to ensure you don't actually fall—you either slowly come back down to the ground, or you dangle until you can regain your grip on the rocks. It's kind of like in life when we lose our way, God is always there to belay us back to safety and the correct path. Who knew rock climbing could parallel with so much?

3. Dane has been a great friend of mine since high school. He is in the Army and currently lives in North Carolina, but he always comes to visit Texas when he gets his breaks. Even though he once shot me in the leg with an airsoft gun after I said that's the one place he was NOT to shoot me, he really is pretty awesome. He proved to be a trustworthy belayer, brought me an orange Gatorade (my favorite!!), and even took some pics when that was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't even crack any jokes about my weight when he was belaying. Oh, wait, yes he did—but I would expect nothing less from him.

4. I don't feel this needs much of an explanation.

Sometimes in rock climbing, it feels like there aren't enough rocks, or there

are just too many out of your reach. I think a lot of times in life we get so caught up in so many different things and feel like everything we need is not in reach or too difficult to grasp. It's in those times that we have to remember that we are harnessed in God's love, and He is the best belayer this world has ever seen. So, no matter what wall you choose or what path of rocks you follow, you can always make it to the top somehow—even if you don't think you are strong enough yet to pull yourself up when hanging from that cliff.

The good thing about all of this is that God's harness is definitely a lot more attractive than those belts of awkwardness they give you at rock climbing gyms.

Dear Santa...

I don't dislike Santa, but I do have a few things I would like to say to him.

(Side note: When I was typing, I accidentally misspelled the jolly man's name as Satan. I'm not sure if that means anything or not, but I felt it was worth noting.)

So, this year, if I sent a letter to the North Pole, it might read something like this:

Dear Santa,

The more I think about it, the more I wish Rudolph had turned you down when you asked him to bail you out that one year it was really foggy. I understand that it's rather exciting for innocent little children to anticipate your sleigh landing on top of their roofs and magically fitting your hefty frame down their chimneys and stuffing their empty stockings that were hung "with care." It's even almost cute that they think you can cover the entire world in one night.

That sure is a short time frame for someone who makes elves do all the work for him 364 other days out of the year.

I wouldn't have such a problem with you if you weren't such a spotlight hog. The excitement of you coming is all about presents; the excitement of you coming is all about greed. Remember Jesus? The excitement of Him coming is all about presence; the excitement of Him coming is all about eternity.

I don't know where you were born (your bio seems to be a bit fragmented and shady), but I doubt it was in a manger, and I really don't think it was an immaculate conception.

I know it's trite to say that people have forgotten what the true meaning of Christmas really is, but you're not helping the situation any. This time of year broods frustration—I mean, just take one look at any shopping mall. Chaos. Madness. Superfluous spending. It's not even about giving for most people—instead, they just try to pile up as many things as possible to try to satisfy others with items that will likely end up in a garage sale in a couple of years. And what do you do? You show up at these malls and pose for pictures with kids who believe you are the real deal. You encourage them to ask for more. You request them to make lists, and you have your own list. You supposedly have this huge book that classifies people as "naughty" or "nice," and you bring coal for those who have not lived up to your expectations.

You know what Jesus brings to those very same people? Redemption. You could learn a thing or two from Him. He offers so much more than anything you could pull out of your big red bag.

So, if I had a wish list, I would ask that you keep giving. However, I think you should give something a little different this year—I think you should step back and give Jesus the glory. Allow Him actually to have the spotlight He deserves on His birthday.

I mean, He did come to save the world, which is so much more than someone who had to be rescued by a reindeer can say.

Lovelovelove,

Natalie

Color the stress away

There are times in life when you just need to sit down and color.

When I was a camp counselor, it became quite apparent that opening up a coloring book and taking part in an activity that most people think is only reserved for 7-year-olds is actually rather refreshing. In fact, I might call it therapeutic.

Life is full of so many things to cause us stress: work just keeps piling up, and you feel like you are sinking in quick sand; your bills seem to be increasing, while your salary is not; that guy hasn't asked you out yet; people keep asking you for favors, and you are reluctant to decline; Facebook is getting in the way of productivity (I'm joking—slightly); your e-mail inbox has too many new messages, and you really don't want to go through them anytime soon; so many people around you seem to be hopping on board the luck train, and unfortunate things keep happening to you; that guy still hasn't asked you out yet; you need to clean your home, but by the time you finally get time to do so, exhaustion wins in the battle of wills; your bones/joints/other body parts keep reminding you that you are aging by the second; and you have so many things going on that, even if you do have a planner to try to keep track of everything, you forget to remember to write it all down.

I guess to sum it all up: life happens.

The hardest part of all of this is not just reminding yourself that it's really all out of your hands—it's actually believing it and trusting that God will take care of you. With as many things as we "conquer" on our own (even though they are never on our own), it's not easy to feel so helpless in situations where we know we need someone else to bail us out.

When my classes start to drive me crazy, I sit on the floor. When life in general sends me to a state of pure frenzy, I color. There's just something about those non-toxic sticks of wax adorning well-known outlines on unique paper that clears my head and makes everything better. Perhaps it's because it takes me back to a time when the world was so carefree, and the biggest stress was when my parents made me come inside because it was getting dark out, and I had to leave that football game with the neighbors unfinished. The scariest part was the walk back to my house on summer nights—you never know when those stupid hoppers are going to jump out.

So, I guess coloring puts me in a past world and makes me forget that life has a tendency to spiral out-of-control. It allows you to be creative, yet also reminds you that there really are times when you can stay inside the lines and still maintain your sanity. Coloring is not just an activity for a child; rather, it's an activity that all adults should try at least once a week. I mean, your refrigerator will look so much prettier if you do.

I truly believe God gave us crayons and coloring books for a reason.

"Truly my soul finds rest in God; my salvation comes from Him.

Truly He is my rock and my salvation; He is my fortress; I will never be shaken."

-Psalm 62:1-2

The time is almost here

I think it's natural sometimes in life to be a bit selfish.

This weekend was the White Rock Marathon, which I ran last year. I love this race and really wanted to do the half this year. Needless to say, that didn't happen. Thanks, pelvis. So, LizRaz and I went to cheer on all of our rockin' friends running it. Of course, we had a BLAST, our friends did AWESOME, and it was overall an incredible morning. I mean, how can it not be when you are in costume?

There was one haunting detail in the back of my mind while we were out there, particularly when we were cheering at the start line then finish line. It's something that has been true at every race I've attended since the summer. It's this fact that I really hate to dwell in my mind, yet I also hate that I even think about it when I am really just out there to support my friends. It toys with my emotions.

You aren't running this, Natalie.

The last actual race I ran was El Scorcho at the end of July, and that race is a whole story in itself. It starts at midnight, and let's just say it puts the body a little out-of-whack, to put it lightly. Anyway, I have missed out on many events since then, and it's been borderline depressing at times.

I have a half marathon on January 1, and I am praying hardcore that I am legitimately ready for it. It's necessary on so many levels. Plus, it would be a wonderful way to start off a fresh year. I don't even care if I PR (I'm lying)—I just want to run my favorite racing distance without feeling any pain in my stupid pelvis.

Now, I'm not a huge fan of 5Ks, but I am racing one this Saturday. It's my first race back, and I have absolutely no idea what to expect. All I know is that I am glad that for once I won't be the one ringing the cowbell. I love my friends, and I love being able to support them at races, but I really do think it's time I hang up that cowbell for a bit so I can actually participate.

I guess selfishness just happens sometimes—like Saturday morning.

Rockin', thankin' and GBC

I never eat turkey on Thanksgiving.

For some reason, I just really don't like Thanksgiving turkey. I prefer the processed kind that you can get at Subway or the grocery store. I'm sure it's a lot healthier for you, too.

I wonder why they didn't eat a chicken on the first Thanksgiving feast. I'll bet it wouldn't take as long to cook—or maybe Chick-fil-A could cater! Then you wouldn't even have to worry about carving a big bird or dealing with that nasty gravy. That's why they invented Chick-fil-A Sauce.

To be honest, there is really only one dish that I absolutely have to have on the holiday that Charlie Brown and his gang know how to celebrate in style: green bean casserole. It's weird, because I don't like the thought of cream of mushroom soup (eww!), and I really hate onions, but those fried onions that top it off are almost the best part (nothing beats the cheese, of course). Plus, I'm

pretty sure they are completely beneficial to your health.

My cousin Rachel made a delicious GBC (as it shall be called from this point forward) on Thanksgiving Day, and then my mo

m made her usual stellar rendition the next day. (Actually, my sister did most of the work this time around, and she kind of yelled at me when I suggested she use a bit more of the fried onions. She said I should come over there and make it if I was going to be picky. I think we both knew that was a bad idea.) Two days in a row of GBC? Beautiful. Of course, it's always best topped off with ketchup and scooped up with Wheat Thins.

On another note, I attended the Turkey Trot this year, which is not something I usually do. I'm not a huge fan of the massive crowds and the people who get near the front of the start line and then walk with their dogs or strollers while people trying to run have to weave in and out of them. But, this year I was dressed as a rock star (note: not all inflatable guitars can handle a bike pump), helping a friend with a promotion while running and not racing. I ran about three miles in the race, turned around and then did two on my own. It was a fun morning, especially because I was with such amazing people.

One of the craziest things happened when LizRaz and I were in the parking lot waiting for everyone in our rocker gang to arrive. We got there almost an hour before our call time of 7 a.m., so we had a lot of time of sitting in my car and LizRaz finishing the final touches of her costume. She was standing in the lot, and it was probably 60 or 70-something degrees. In the mere matter of a second—I'm not even joking about this—the temperature plummeted to 30 or 40-something. It was ridiculous! The rest of the morning was super cold, but it was crazy how quickly it changed.

Even though I don't appreciate anything with a gizzard on this holiday, it's one of my favorites—I love getting to spend time with family and friends and being reminded of the things for which I am most thankful, like football (among all of the other blessings in life, of course).

An underrated desk dweller

I think Wite-Out represents a lot more than just simple correction fluid.

It is a parallel substance to the way we live our lives.

I mean, think about it: absolutely no one is perfect, and there are so many times in life where we would like to go back and correct things. Sometimes we just scribble through the mess and keep going, while other times we try to back track and erase what's been done. (On a side note, I am slightly uncomfortable with the spelling of this product. I really wish it were spelled like the color instead of dropping the letter h. I suppose you could just buy a knockoff brand like the one I have sitting on my desk right now, appropriately called "Liquid Paper.")

Anyway, back to my point (assuming I have a valid one to make): Wite-Out brings with it true symbolism into our everyday lives. I'm going to try to sound sane when I say this, but Wite-Out always makes me think of the love of Jesus Christ.

If you ponder it for a bit, it makes sense. Whenever we ask forgiveness from our Savior, He wipes our slate clean and uses his own version of Wite-Out to make us white again. We are clean and get another chance. I'm sure you've noticed that you can always tell when a person uses corrective liquid—there is that splotchy, discolored area on the paper where it's obvious perfection was not involved. Similarly, when we sin, there are often lasting consequences that leave lasting marks and scars in our lives, but we are still forgiven. We are still allowed to write over that splotchy area where mistakes once superabounded.

When we avoid using Wite-Out and just scribble out what we originally wrote, it usually looks messier and like we didn't care to make our work more presentable. When we try to scratch things out in life without letting God white it out for us with forgiveness, we typically create bigger messes than we had before—just like your uglified (it's OK to make up words on occasion) paper.

I understand that most people type things nowadays, but you can still have a messed up paper without Wite-Out. I know I've been in situations where I was about to turn in an essay and saw a typo of some sort. You have two choices (since you can't go reprint it right that moment): 1. Scratch out what you typed and use a pen to make the correction. 2. Utilize the wonder that is Wite-Out.

Just make sure you let it sit a few moments to allow the liquid to dry before you try writing over it. After all, impatience will just make more of a mess of everything—just like in life.

Risky business

It turns out I am both a daredevil and a pansy.

There are some aspects of my life where I am willing to take big risks. For instance, this morning when I was running, I crossed the street at a stoplight intersection when a cop might consider it jaywalking. Some cars to my right were actually going at a pretty fast speed, and I barely missed getting hit.

I do similar things when I'm driving all the time. I won't even debate for very long in my head if there is enough time to make it through an intersection—I just go for it.

Yesterday, one of my students was nervous about having to go get an interview with a coach and wanted to take a friend with her. I made her go all by herself, and she kept hesitating to leave the room and was practicing what she was going to say to him. I finally said something along the lines of, "It's like you keep dipping your toe in cold water, when really all you need to do is dive in there. So dive!"

In that moment, I started thinking to myself, "How often do I actually follow that advice? And when should I not?"

I feel like there are so many areas in my life where I am such a chicken and just way too afraid to take risks. For starters, there is the obvious scenario when I walk or run anywhere where there is the potential to see a fr**. Sometimes I will even run clear to the other side of a street if I see a bump or formation in the road that appears to be one. (Usually it's just a leaf or a rock, but that's beside the point.) I play it way cautiously.

For some reason, I'm the same way when it comes to guys. I remember this one time in high school when I was walking down an empty hall, and a guy I had a crush on was walking the opposite way toward me. I got really nervous and didn't know what to do. I wanted to avoid having to say "hi" or awkwardly walking past him without saying anything, so I did what I thought was the smartest thing: found the nearest escape route. I dodged into the first classroom I could, which happened to be a science class full of seniors (I was a sophomore at the time). The teacher was in the middle of giving a lecture, so everything stopped, and all eyes were on me. I just stood against the door and said, "It's OK—I will only be in here a few seconds." When I knew the boy was gone, I left the room and proceeded to my original destination.

Coward.

I take a lot of risks—not just in running and driving. But, there are just some parts of my life where I am worse than that wimpy lion in "The Wizard of Oz."

I think the bottom line is that it all comes down to trust. I have to be willing to leave it all in God's hands when I do take those big risks, because He's the one with the ultimate plan who will make whatever is supposed to happen actually happen.

Thank goodness for that—I definitely shouldn't be the one calling the shots!

"Toy Story" sorrow

I never thought I could have such a sad experience in a frozen yogurt store.

My good friend Kebbers and I met yesterday afternoon for froyo, which is normally a time of undaunted happiness. I mean, it started off that way yesterday, as well, but we were not anticipating the sorrow that still remained to befall us in such a quaint little venue.

From our entrance, we noticed "Toy Story 3" playing on the television in the corner. Most of the time some movie or Disney show is on, and I generally don't pay much attention to it. I love the "Toy Story" series and haven't seen the final one, so I glanced over multiple times during our conversation, even though I could tell it was probably close to the end.

This was a bad decision on my part.

*NOTE: SPOILER ALERT!

So, we continue chatting until I notice some boxes on the screen as Andy is getting ready to go to college. Woody jumps out of his box and runs over to another and starts writing something on a Post-It note. He sees that Andy is coming, so the camera focuses on Andy, and the audience doesn't see if Woody went back to the box labeled "college" or if he hopped into the one being donated, which contains all of his friends.

My heart stopped.

Sure, I don't want Woody to part from Buzz and the rest of the gang, but I also don't want him to be eternally separated from his best friend forever. This was obviously an emotionally climactic point for me—I'm not sure the little tots in there understood what exactly was happening. By "what exactly," I mean the disastrous events that left me feeling despondent and almost without hope.

Friends, Woody went with the toys. When Andy found him in the box and realized he was going to have to leave him behind, I didn't know what to do. I was trying so hard to be brave. Kebbers knew the pain I was feeling.

"Don't you dare break your no-cry streak!" she cautioned.

No worries—I didn't let my eyes leak. But it surely was a close call.

I told Kebbers that I would never be able to give up Tie, my trusty koala without whom I cannot sleep. Seriously. (I once turned around and drove back home to get him once when I was spending the night at my parents' house, which is about 30 miles away, because I left him at my apartment. I was one exit away from where they live.) Anyway, Kebbers noted that Tie doesn't have any friends. Good point, but it was still a rough time for me in that froyo moment.

I still can't believe that Woody is forever separated from Andy. Kebbers even tried to tell me that there was an alternative ending, but I know the reality of the situation.

My sorrow goes to infinity...and beyond.

A Texas-sized dilemma

Never give up hope.

This is really difficult for me to say right now, especially with the way things are going in life. I mean, yes, I have been predicting a World Series win since spring training, but things are not exactly panning out as planned.

In fact, things are looking rather grim. I HATE saying this. In fact, I'm feeling some heart pain right now.

It's a do-or-die situation for us now. Win three in a row, two of which have to be on the road. I suppose I could say stranger things have happened.

Sometimes, in certain aspects of life, I have this theory that if you don't get your hopes up about something, you can never be let down. Sure, it might sound pessimistic, but it's really not as bad as it sounds. I try not to have this attitude in regards to my sports teams, though.

I'm holding on to this thread of hope...

Running is love; love is running

I'm in love.

I've been mentioning lately how I've started back to running, slowly but surely. Well, this morning I did a course that I used to do on Fridays—my "short and easy" runs. Can I just say: it felt absolutely fabulous.

Sure, I wasn't going as fast as I wanted to (I'm definitely still playing the cautious card), but it was wonderful, nonetheless. After two months of misery and frustration, things seem to be falling back into place. Finally.

The whole time I was running this morning, I just kept thinking about how much I love running and how deeply I had missed it while I have been dealing with my stupid injury. It then occurred to me that this is how some people feel about other people—and I feel it about running. I'm not sure if there is something wrong with that, but I honestly didn't care at the time.

If you think I'm crazy for comparing running to the 1 Corinthians love passage from the Bible, then go ahead and stop reading, because I'm totally going to do it.

1 Corinthians 13:4-7

"Love is patient" (Not being able to run involved more patience than I've ever had to have, and I'm a teacher!!)

"Love is kind" (Running has always been so kind to me, and I feel I have returned the favor.)

"It does not envy" (I run with really fast people, and I don't envy them—I just respect them beyond belief.)

"It does not boast" (I don't brag about how fast or slow or long or short I run—I just run.)

"It is not proud" (The explanation for this is quite similar to the one previously mentioned.)

"It is not rude" (How could anyone think running is rude? Running is the antithesis of rude.)

"It is not self-seeking" (Running helps people—enough said.)

"It is not easily angered" (I find that running actually calms me down if I'm angry for whatever reason.)

"It keeps no records of wrongs" (When I hear this, all I can think of is a PR.)

"Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth" (Even when my friend Anil was dressed in a devil costume and running next to the athletes in a half-Ironman triathlon, the participants just kept running, and they were probably even more motivated with the epitome of evil running alongside them.)

"It always protects" (Not only does it protect people from getting out-of-shape, but it can also help you to be faster when running away from the boogie man.)

"always trusts" (I know I can always count on running to be there for me when I wake up in the morning. Even when I'm broken, it's still going to be there for me, and it won't ever turn its back on me.)

"always hopes" (During times of struggle, particularly injuries, there is always hope to be able to run again. There's always also the hope for another PR, another accomplished distance, another obstacle tackled.)

"always perseveres" (Just look at someone running and tell me if he or she does not define perseverance in that moment.)

Yes, I just wrote an entire blog entry about my love for running. What can I say? I missed it!

Maybe someday I will blog a love entry about a person, but this will suffice for now.

World Series weekend

This weekend was one I will definitely never forget.

For starters, history was made on Friday night. I've waited so many years for the Rangers to be a decent team. It's pretty painful watching them all spring, summer and then have them crash and burn in the fall. Actually, most years they crashed and burned in the summer months so that I knew that there really would be no meaningful fall ball.

But this year was so much different.

After seeing how much chemistry this team has had the past few years, I started predicting a World Series run back in spring training. Some people called me crazy, and that's fine. It wasn't the first time.

Who's crazy now?

I absolutely love this team, and I really think we are going to win the whole thing. It's so awesome how the team chose to celebrate with ginger ale rather than champagne so that Josh Hamilton could be part of it without any temptations. That's something that had to be planned and discussed prior to it happening. That's not just a team—that's a family. Plus, Ron Washington is one of the most quotable men in the history of America.

Bring it, Giants.

Moving on to Saturday, the day of the EPIC bash...

My friend LizRaz and I had planned to throw ourselves a birthday party last year, but multiple circumstances of life caused us to postpone it until this year. I'm glad we did, because we've become better friends with a lot of people since then, and they are the ones who truly made the night special. I had never had an actual birthday party, so it was great to be able to do so with the most amazing people I know.

Major props to GQ (the house host), Lufucifi (the planner), Anil (the music man and someone who has bumped up from fave five to top two!! :)), my siblings (they didn't really know anyone but still came) and, of course, LizRaz for being so awesome and making it all happen. Then there are all of our wonderful peeps who joined us. I honestly don't know how I found such awesome friends, but I'm definitely not giving them up!

Finally, I know that Monday doesn't really count as the weekend (in fact, it might be a sin to associate the two things with one another), but it is worthy to note that the new Taylor Swift album came out yesterday. Needless to say, it's beyond excellent.

"Horrified looks from everyone in the room, but I'm only looking at you..."

The journey back

I think I might be a runner again soon.

So, as I have said previously, I've been running on the Alter-G while suffering through this pelvic fracture issue. I started off only being able to run on 20 percent of my body weight. I rejoiced when I made it to 50 percent, and I thought I was going to cry (happy tears, of course) when I was able to run on 67 percent at six-minute per mile pace for six miles. Needless to say, I have been pretty pumped lately, and I was really looking forward to whatever workout I was supposed to have last night.

Then in walked the curse of germs.

Working at a public high school can have some negative side effects, one of which just happens to be overexposure to the germs and viruses that the precious little children bring with them in the building each day. Normally, I don't get sick often, but I usually have at least one unfortunate spell with the whole sore-throat-achy-body-stuffy-nose-pounding-head thing.

Welcome, Thursday morning.

The whole day was somewhat blurry and full of fatigue (possibly because of the NyQuil I took Wednesday night—that stuff will knock you out). I wasn't as excited as I should have been for Alter-G after work, but I decided I was going to go, anyway. With each hour, though, I started to dread more and more the idea of running stationary while my body ached and my nose ran probably faster than I had the energy to go. Ugh.

When I showed up, the doctor was still out-of-town, so his wife was running the show. She took one look at me and told me to leave. When I told her I really only came because I didn't want to break the 24-hour cancellation policy, she said this was exception and that she would not charge me for this session. Then she shooed me out the door—well, first she loaded me up with a can of soup and multiple packets of a Vitamin C supplement. Even though I think she might be on Speed, she cracks me up.

On the way home, I had this strange urge to stop at the Cooper Center and walk a few laps around the outdoor half-mile track. After one lap, I decided I was going to try jogging a bit. I said a quick prayer beforehand, something along the lines of: "Lord, please don't let me do anything that will hurt me more. Don't let me take this next step if it's going to be a stupid decision."

But I took that step.

The next thing I knew, I was running—I ran a whole mile on my full body weight. It felt amazing. I hadn't run in so long, and I missed it terribly. Even though it was pretty slow and extremely short, it was perfection.

This morning, I went to a school track and ran 1.5 miles. Baby steps.

Maybe I always was still a runner, but I'm now on the journey back.