You have to start the race to finish

The starting line can be one of the most nerve-racking places there is.

There's something so frightening about that moment right before the gun (or air horn) goes off. Sometimes just the seconds right before it feel like they last an eternity. I even get nervous for my track runners as they line up right before their races. The starter says, "Runners, take your marks!" Then his gun goes up in the air, and there's that instant where you have absolutely no idea when the shot will ring to begin the race.

It's definitely worse when you're the one on that line.

Once the race actually gets underway, you can calm down and simply run. The anxiety starts to wear away, because now there are more important things on which to place your focus, such as your pace and making sure you follow the right course. You don't really worry as much about what is going to happen, because you are in the middle of making things happen.

Ready?

I can think of so many moments in my life where I've treated them as starting lines—there's that initial hesitation and fear, because I have no idea what lies ahead of me, and I am uncertain of how successful I'm actually going to be. Instead of just trusting that my training and abilities will ensure I'm well-prepared, I let doubt and anxiety blur my vision. Instead of trusting that God has provided me with all I need and will continue to do so along the way, I let those slight panic attacks make me want to hold back and not just take off and go like I know I should.

But you can't finish a race if you never actually start.

Each day, God gives me another starting line, and I have a choice: I can either let that pestering voice in my head cause me to get off on the wrong footing, or I can simply trust that it's all in His hands and that His word and truth have prepared me enough to run the race of a lifetime.

There's no need to worry about anything along the course, because the most amazing Race Director is in charge of this one.

It's another day, and we're lined up at another starting line. Let's trust that we're ready to go—no mental barriers are going to slow us down on this one.

Take your marks...

Chiggers bite

I wouldn't exactly call having chiggers a pleasant experience.

In fact, it can be rather miserable.

Those pesky little mites are so sneaky and conniving, leaving red welts on us that make us want to scratch until we draw blood. And don't even get me started on the whole nail polish myth—trust me, it doesn't work. I just end up scratching through the polish.

My most recent battle with chiggers caused me to do some extensive research on the microscopic demons. The whole process is actually quite disgusting—they inject saliva into their victims, and then the chiggers start feeding on the liquified tissue (thanks to the Missouri Department of Conservation for this lovely information). Apparently this is what causes the bites to itch to such an extreme degree.

They are less than 1/150th of an inch in diameter.

Scratching chigger bites reminds me a lot of sin: it's so tempting, and it is quite a pleasing experience for a moment in time. While you're scratching those nasty formations on your legs, it feels so good. But then you stop the scratching, and the itch isn't necessarily gone; you haven't really solved the problem or cured your ailment. Rather, you just had a temporary time of relief.

Similarly, that's how we often respond in certain situations where we are tempted with sin. We see an opportunity to do something that perhaps we know we shouldn't, but we go for it, anyway. And we might even enjoy it—until after the fact when we reflect on what we did, and the guilt settles. We don't feel better, because our problems have not been fixed, and we have to face reality again. It might make people laugh when you say something negative about a peer or co-worker, but does it really make you feel better to gossip about others? Do you really reveal Christ when you let the itching of sin turn into a scratching by you?

When you're a little kid, and you get something like chickenpox or chiggers, it's really easy not to listen to those who tell you not to scratch them. You don't really understand the implications of what could happen if you do scratch until those suckers bleed. Try telling a 4-year-old not to touch those chickenpox. Nice try, Mom.

Here is something that you might not find so comforting about chiggers: "Lotions will relieve the itching somewhat, but no substance is completely effective. The only ultimate cure is time, since there is nothing you can do to dislodge the chigger's feeding tube, the true cause of your itch. You must simply wait until your body breaks down and absorbs the foreign object."

Instead of rushing into scratching the chigger demons, just wait. Instead of rushing into the depths of sin, just wait and trust God to guide you in the path toward righteousness.

Sin chiggers will come and go in life—what's important is that we know that we can defeat them with the strength we have in Him.

The wonders of waiting

The waiting room might be one of the worst places on the planet. 

I'm already not the most patient person, but I think this particular setting can drive even the calmest person to madness.

First of all, you aren't always there for positive reasons (though sometimes you are), and having to wait when you're already not in the best of spirits is no way to make a smile dance across your face. It seems like time drags on forever and that you've entered into some alternative universe—maybe even the Twilight Zone—where you will never escape.

Frustrations galore.

The waiting room isn't always glamorous.

And it certainly doesn't help that you are completely helpless in such situations. You are there for a purpose and have to stick around until said purpose is completed, otherwise you've really just wasted precious time in your life. You can't leave, and there's nothing you can do to make any part of the process go faster. In fact, the more you complain, the more awful it's going to seem. Suddenly everyone around you becomes completely incompetent, even though there is usually nothing those individuals can do to make matters better, either.

So you sit and wait.

I think far too often in life we feel trapped in waiting rooms, but we don't actually wait for the moments for our names to be called, so to speak. Rather, we try to take matters into our own hands, which quite frequently ends up blowing up in our faces. Later we realize that, if we could have just had as much as a smidgen of patience, then the chaos and troubles that ensued would not have interrupted our lives. We should have just waited.

Patience has never been my strongest suit, and I will admit right now that I sometimes get extremely agitated when I have to wait. I try to tell God this and that I need Him to work faster, but He actually works on His own time. It probably gives Him a slight chuckle when we try to change that up. But He's teaching me to be more patient on a daily basis, and I truly need it. I think that's one reason He made me a teacher—that has taught me more patience that I've ever known, and it's trickled into other parts of my life, as well.

What I love is that the waiting room for God is so much better than a waiting room anywhere else. Instead of dread and bad smells, there is hope and purity. In place of awkward silence and simultaneous loud chaos, we find peace and joy. The waiting room for Him is actually quite pleasant—if we let it be.

God doesn't make us wait because there are too many of His children to tend to or because He wants us to be unhappy. Rather, He grants us with these times of waiting to deepen our trust in and dependence on Him and so that everything can happen according to His perfect will and on His flawless watch.

I know God has a path for me to take, and there are certain reasons why I'm having to discover patience within me that I never thought I had. There is even one area of my life (dating—or, actually, not dating) where I feel so perfectly content with His timing right now that it almost makes me wonder how He calmed my heart this much. But He did, and I will wait.

We won't always understand why God wants us to wait in certain situations and why things can't just happen when we want them to, but that's where faith has to be at work. We have no idea what's going to happen or when, but we simply have to believe that He's going to take care of us. We can't keep looking at our watches and tapping our feet in these times—we just have to let things happen on the one watch that we can never see.

The waiting room doesn't have to be a place of stress and time constraints; instead it can be a place where we can find rest and truth in Christ—a place where we can breathe and relax knowing that He's got the whole world in His hands.

Lead with the heart

I never realized how much insight could come from yoga.

I really enjoy yoga, because it helps me to relax and forget about some of the stress in my life. I don't even let myself feel guilty when I modify certain poses or skip parts of sequences. I still can't follow the whole breathing pattern of it, and I'm really not that skilled at all (though I've really mastered the tree pose, so watch out there). I would like to go to classes more often, and this morning was actually the first time I went in months.

And I'm really glad I did, because I was reminded of a life truth that I don't think the teacher even knew she was preaching.

Toward the end of class, we were all sitting on our mats and doing some stretch whose name I don't remember and probably would never pronounce correctly, anyway. You had to lean forward, and the instructor wanted to make sure we were keeping our postures and not sinking our shoulders, so she said, "Lead with the heart."

Enter my new life motto.

Don't be deceived--I drew this.

I sat there thinking about it (yes, neglecting the next few steps of my "practice" as the instructor called it), and that simple sentence makes such perfect sense. The heart has to be the guiding force. The more I sat there and thought about it, the more I realized just how much I want to "lead with the heart."

In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul wrote: "I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts though faith" (Ephesians 3:16-17). So, essentially, if Christ is in your heart, and you lead with the heart, then Christ is truly the one leading you.

And that's exactly as it should be.

I've always loved the concept of doing things with the heart, but it took on such a deeper meaning for me today. In all I do, I want to "lead with the heart" so that there will never be any doubt for whom I am living. Just as leading with the heart in yoga helps a person keep proper posture, leading with the heart in life also allows people to stay upright and not have to worry about what effects will ensue. After all, when you're letting your heart lead the way, you have the ultimate One guiding you with every step you take.

I'm never going to be the best student in any yoga class. I'm not very flexible, I cheat on some of the moves, and my favorite part is at the very end when you lie on your back and close your eyes to reach the highest point of relaxation of the class (for me, anyway). But, I know that if I lead with my heart I will at least be doing my best to make the most of the class.

I'm never going to be the best person to walk this earth. I mess up a lot of the time, I struggle to make decisions (especially important ones), and I can't even cut in a straight line when I'm using scissors. But, I know that if I lead with my heart I don't need to fret about anything, because I'm being led by the only One I need.

I knew I needed that yoga class this morning. I might have butchered the Warrior I and Warrior II poses, but at least I took away the most important thing that happened in that class: "Lead with the heart."

Life as a scrapbook

I'm not much of a scrapbooker.

I love taking pictures, and I enjoy embarking on trips down Memory Lane, but I'm just not so great at putting everything together in some pristine and artsy book full of cute cutouts and precious headlines. Maybe I'm just a bit lazy, but it seems like way too much time and effort to be put into creating such a page-turning collection of memories.

As a kid, I became aware that I have a strong photographic memory—I can vividly picture random and specific things just as if they are happening all over again right before me. So, perhaps that's another reason I don't make scrapbooks—I simply see these recollections easily, and that's just as good for me as cutting and pasting. There are times where this is beneficial, because it's always nice to conjure up positive parts of our pasts. But, there are also those painful or shameful moments brought back into the light—the ones that people choose to leave out of scrapbooks. After all, these books are created to make people happy. They are strictly for fond memories.

Memory: Brad Paisley concert with mom

I must say that I truly enjoy flipping through my mind's own scrapbook and reminiscing on the joys that have graced my life: running barefoot to the end of the street with my sister, because it started pouring rain, and we thought it sounded like a good idea; seeing my mom cross the finish line of her first triathlon with a huge smile on her face; driving three hours on a school night to go with my brother to a concert he didn't care for but attended just for my sake; my dad, who might be one of the most comical people alive and does everything he can to make me happy, walking alongside me at my first triathlon as I wanted to quit during the swim and yelling at me: "You're a Merrill! You don't quit! Turn over and do the backstroke the rest of the way!"; my family being there in miserable weather conditions as I crossed the finish line of the White Rock Half Marathon last December in my fastest time ever; playing outside every single day until the sun went down when I was a kid; attempting to drive my sister's Jeep (a standard) and stalling out in the middle of a busy intersection while one of my best friends cracked up in the passenger seat (my dad had to ride his bike and come pick us up from my friend's house after a stranger drove us there); growing up playing at the Frontenis courts; trying to sneak to the top of hotel roofs in high school, because my friend and I didn't go to parties; seeing my baby sister crowned Homecoming Queen; finishing a half marathon as my sister ran toward me in a bumblebee outfit; seeing my sister run toward me in the last 800 of a marathon and having her beside me as we ran across the finish line together; rollerskating with my best friend and racing the kids around us; exploring Los Angeles because I was bored one summer day.

I seriously could go on and on with my internal scrapbook. There are so many moments in life that bring joy to my heart and a smile to my face.

But, there are also times I don't want to plaster on pages: making my sister lie to the YMCA employee; having a volleyball pole fall on my head so that I had to get it stapled the day before my college graduation; any moment involving hoppers; having to move my pin in kindergarten for talking during naptime; the Sunday school excursion car wreck; the day I couldn't finish a run at White Rock because of a broken pelvis; the day I kept running an 18-miler on a broken hip; everything about September 11 and the bomb threat at our school that afternoon—they packed the entire school into the fieldhouse; dozens of secrets I've found out that I never wanted to know; seeing loved ones suffer through cancer.

I don't want to extend this list of memories any longer.

I wonder what God thinks when He sees the scrapbooks of our lives. I'll bet it brings complete joy to Him when a child of His sings praises to His name or helps another in need. I'll bet His book is full of beautiful pictures of His own—first steps, graduations, birthday parties, saving moments.

I'm so thankful that He wipes the slate clean each time I mess up in life. If not, that book would not be full of crafty cutouts with fancy scissors and construction-paper backgrounds. It would be a bit darker than that.

I know things won't always be perfect, but I don't want to dwell on the negative aspects. Am I going to make monstrous mistakes? Absolutely. But I'm not going to cut and glue them into my book. I would rather turn the page to something new and strive to overcome the bad things that will be thrown my way in life. Sure, bad things happen, and they are still important parts of our stories and help us grow, but we don't constantly have to revisit them.

Life is one oversized scrapbook, and we need to make it as wonderful as possible—even if you don't paste everything on pages full of labels and stickers.