Ready for the rides

Magnitude doesn't always change when you get older.

When you're a little kid, things tend to seem a lot bigger than they actually are. Grownups look like giants; the length of the soccer field seems miles long; doors are heavier when you try to open them; Capri Sun pouches last longer; the passenger seat in your mom's car holds special powers; malls are giant danger zones where you can get lost from your parents; and jumping off from the high diving board at the public pool is the equivalent of voluntarily descending from the Empire State Building.

Many of these perceptions change as we get older, though there are certain things that still maintain mountainous statuses when they undesirably enter into our lives.

Like the anxiety of the unknown.

I remember when I was a little girl and the Black Hole first made its appearance at Wet 'n Wild (back before it was renamed Hurricane Harbor). It was a two-person ride, and—according to the park rules—my siblings and I were too small to ride it together, so my dad usually rode with us individually. (I think my mom did every so often, too, but she's not a big fan of those rides. She preferred the wave pool and the "blue tube" slides.) One thing about the Black Hole is that it is quite fittingly named—it's very dark in there almost the entire time. It's pretty exciting when there are lights, because it looks like you are about to run into them, but you drop right before you think your face is about to smash into something you can barely see.

The Black Hole

It's awesome.

I've never been fearful of rides at theme parks or water parks, and I really enjoyed the excitement of the Black Hole, but I think one thing that made me so confident is that I knew my dad was right there with me, weighing the float down so that we wouldn't flip (apparently that's the hesitation in letting two small children ride together). My dad would be with me for the entire ride, so any unexpected drops and turns were nothing to worry about—we were in this together, and I knew we would make it to see the sunlight with no harm done.

And I always asked if we could go again.

Sometimes life is like the Black Hole: there are so many things that come your way that you don't anticipate, and you find yourself holding on for dear life to whatever handles you can find. The surprises you encounter seem even more magnified than they would if you were a little kid again—and this time they feel all too real, because you're supposedly expected to know how to handle them as an adult.

I have a lot of uncertainties dancing all around me, and some of them give me slight anxiety. I'm moving from Canada (as I lovingly like to call it) at the end of July, and I don't know where I'm going to live until the end of October—and, even then, the actual physical place is still a mystery right now. I'm not too worried about it, but that might also be because I have been trying to avoid even thinking about anything involving the future lately.

But, the good news is that I know don't have to worry about flipping over—I have a Father who will be with me until the end, weighing that raft down and overpowering the darkness that encompasses all that surrounds me. God does that for His children, because we're too small to take on all of this madness by ourselves. It's comforting, actually, so much so that you don't have to fear any wild rides that you start.

And you might even find yourself asking if you can go again, because you know you'll never have to go alone.

The audition

There are certain songs in life that can take you back in time to moments you will absolutely never forget.

Even if those moments weren't your most shining.

When I was in the grocery store the other day, a song started playing overhead that gave me a flashback to a singing audition that might make the judges on The Voice quit their jobs and never listen to another person sing again. Ever.

Yes, it was that bad.

I've never been musically talented. I even got in trouble with my music teacher in the fifth grade because she thought I was playing the recorder badly on purpose. She sent me out in the hall, and I remember seeing all of my hopes of any musical endeavors I had come crashing down—after all, this was the same teacher who had given me a talking part when I had auditioned for a solo in the choir performance for open house the year before. It was a sad reality that hurt, and I never took music seriously again.

I can't help but admit that I love performing, and anyone who knows me has probably seen me sing Taylor Swift's "Love Story" at least once or twice, but I know I'm never going to sign on with a record label, and I doubt I'll be invited to perform at any awards shows anytime soon (or ever, whatever). And, after my elementary school musical failures, I didn't sing with legitimate effort in a serious setting again.

It helped my rap career.

Until my senior year of high school.

My best friend and I had made a bet, and I lost. According to the stipulations of said bet, if I lost I had to audition to sing at our graduation, and I had to be serious about it. I had to go into the auditions making people—especially the judges—believe that I actually thought I was talented enough to sing at the ceremony. She got pretty excited and told as many people as she could that I was auditioning, and so I figured it wouldn't be that big of a deal but would instead be a funny memory I got to share with my friends.

False.

What I didn't know was that the auditions were in a private room with the choir teacher and all of the assistant principals.

Oh.good.gosh.

I was a goody-goody in high school, and I really didn't want to get in trouble for making a mockery of the privilege to sing at graduation, so I decided I was going to fake it as much as I could into making the APs and choir teacher think this was something I truly wanted. I suddenly regretted agreeing to the bet. It happens sometimes.

It really didn't help that I chose a song that wasn't so easy to sing: "At the Beginning" from the movie Anastasia. It's a duet by Richard Marx and Donna Lewis—you know, a male and a female. Oh, and there is one really high note in the song that makes my voice squeak every single time. It's also quite difficult to sing the parts for two different people, especially once their voices start overlapping each other's by the end of the song. But I sure attempted it.

When the song finally ended (I swear it was longer in that audition than any of the times I had practiced it in my car), the room fell completely silent. I'm sure they all wanted to laugh. Or cry for me. Or clean their ears. I just wanted to leave. I stood there awkwardly waiting for someone to say something. Anything. After what seemed like an eternity, one of the APs said, "Ok, thanks. We'll post results later."

Like I really needed to see them.

Obviously I didn't get the gig, and one of the APs later told me (in front of my entire English class) that "it would be a cold day in hades" before she ever let me have the mic at graduation. Talk about a boost of confidence. But, I'm glad I went through that ridiculous experience, because I really feel like it helped me grow as a person. Life is full of awkward moments, and it's certainly full of failures—and I got to experience both all at once. It made me realize that sometimes you can't escape things, and you just have to be bold. Who cares if people think you're bad at something? So what if you can't bring people to their feet in applause with your vocal aspirations? It was actually kind of fun singing at the top of my lungs to an audience of more than just my dashboard.

After all, it makes me smile to let that memory dance through my head when I unexpectedly hear the song come on the speakers at a grocery store. I even started to sing along. Some people around me gave me some odd looks, but that's alright.

Life is full of much more than we ever thought we'd face, so we might as well be bold every chance we get.

So belt it as loudly as you can, because Someone much bigger than a panel of judges thinks your voice is beautiful.

Real talk

While I really love technology, I sometimes miss the days when things weren't so impersonal.

Thank you, cell phones and social media.

Don't get me wrong—I love Facebook for many reasons. It's very useful in creating events and quick to get RSVPs, it's an effective way for the people in our running community to stay in touch with one another, and it's a great way to share your pictures with family and friends. All-in-all, it's so much easier to keep up with people you don't get to see on a daily basis.

But it's definitely not my favorite invention.

Just the other day, one of my students needed to get in touch with someone for a story she was working on for the newspaper. Rather than call or go in person to get the information she needed, she said, "Oh, I'll just tweet it to her." Really? It made me sad to hear that people don't really communicate as well as they used to.

There have been many times when I've gotten messages or comments on Facebook from friends and thought to myself, "I really miss our real conversations." I feel like friends I used to talk on the phone with more often now think Facebook is the answer to all means of catching up. I think that's fine if you're keeping in touch with acquaintances, but I think genuine friendships need face-to-face time or at least phone calls if that's not an option.

They don't need Facebook.

Everyone has a birthday, and it's always fun when people write you nice little things on your Facebook wall on your special day. But I think it is more meaningful when people actually pick up the phone and call you to give you those warm wishes, especially people close to you. Facebook is great for those impersonal relationships with people you probably don't hang out with often or ever, but it's not great for the people who matter more to you in life.

I even remember a couple of years ago, one of my good friends wrote on my Facebook wall to wish me a happy birthday. No call. No text. Nothing else. I'm not going to lie—I wasn't thrilled about that.

And, as much as I love texting, I think it's often a detriment to our society, as well—and not just for grammatical reasons.

My sister hates texting, and occasionally I'm in the same boat with her. It's wonderful at times—when you need to send someone a short note, when you're at work or somewhere where you can't have a full conversation with someone, or when you really don't want to talk a lot. However, there are many moments when it's simply better if you actually hit the call button. If texting is your only form of communication in any kind of relationship, it's likely not going to be a very strong one. People need to hear each other's voices; people need to spend time together; people need to make time for one another.

Besides, texting gives people way too much response time. You can't have quality conversations with that many pauses. It's not normal.

Obviously I'm not giving up texting or all social media. As I mentioned, I find Facebook to be very beneficial in certain regards, but I also think it's also an inimical form of "talking" to others. Instead of commenting on a friend's post to say, "Hope you're doing well," why not go sit for a bit over coffee and find out how that person is actually doing.

"LOL" and the "Like" button can only take you so far—it's good every once in a while to share some real laughs and love with people beyond the screen.

Be careful and risky

While there isn't a book full of instructions for every instance of life, there are certainly some tidbits of advice we gain from others along the way.

We (mostly women) are often reminded of how we need to guard our hearts. While I definitely agree, I think we still have to risk our hearts at some points if we're ever going to fall in love—you have to be careful and risky at the same time. But, still, those "guard your heart" warnings are from the Word (see Proverbs 4:23) and quite valuable.

But there are other admonitions that people don't stress as much—like wearing socks when you go rollerblading.

I encountered a situation yesterday in which I had forgotten socks but was coaching a young runner and needed to rollerblade alongside her for the 5K course I had mapped out. I had already run 14 miles that morning and didn't want to run again, so I figured I would just carelessly blade in my sockless state and not have to worry about many repercussions.

False.

Wear socks when blading.

I started feeling some rubbing pain not too long into her run, but I figured it was only for a short period of time, and I'd be fine. The results were two lovely bleeding blister-type things on the outside of both of my legs. Gross. And ouch.

I realize this was completely my fault—I knew I was going to be rollerblading that day, and I should have remembered to pack socks. But, as I was scrambling to throw stuff in a bag for church and the rest of the day before I drove to Dallas for my run, the socks managed to slip my mind. It was unfortunate, obviously.

But, to be honest, I really don't care about the blisters that much. My precious little runner completed her training for the day and did a great job—and I was able to be there with her the entire time and guide her and encourage her for the duration of the course.

Life is going to throw things at us that leave us hurt and maybe even scarred. But even those marks are often worth what we go through to get them. You might find yourself with heartache as you sit with your friend on a park swing during your college years wondering where things went wrong, but even then you could know that you're growing in your walk with the Lord when you need comfort the most. Or you could get a broken heart and know that perhaps you let yourself be too vulnerable. Either way, it's the life lesson you needed to make you into the person you were meant to be.

The heart is a bit more fragile than the skin on your legs, but there are still times when we have to risk feeling some pain for the people we love. Your heart is precious, so let love flow from it, yet also ensure that it's protected, especially from such harshness like spite and resentment.

Because blisters on the heart are worse than those from a sockless rollerblading excursion.