race day + my mother = good weekend

This has been quite the wonderful weekend.

I ran my longest race yet, the Fifth Third River Bank Run 25K (just longer than a half marathon), on Saturday morning. Of course, the temperatures dropped from the lovely warmth of earlier days to low forties accompanied by strong winds and misty rain, but it really wasn't as bad as I had begun to anticipate. Besides, when I'm running in that kind of weather alone, I wonder at my sanity, but running in those conditions with so many other people is simply invigorating. There are 21,000 other people running this morning! I think to myself. I can't be crazy! (Though I hear the cries of the non-runners out there, and yes, there is that chance that we are all crazy...)

There is so much I love about races: the energy that comes from being surrounded by so many that love to run as much as I do, the camaraderie of strangers in this together, the conversations overheard, running in the middle of the road, the children with signs to cheer on their mom or dad, new scenery and parts of the city I rarely see, the feeling of accomplishment when I've crossed the finish line. I'm quite happy with my time and still feel energized. It was a great race.

Now I'm on the lookout for a half marathon to run with my dad in the near future... and dreaming of training for a marathon in the further-off future... someday!

My lovely mother then came up on Saturday afternoon and stayed through today for our celebration of Mother's Day. We had a wonderful time; it was so fun to have her here and play hostess to the woman who showed me how to host in the first place. Dinner out last night at a favorite Spanish restaurant played tribute to our shared love of that country. After church today, we cooked brunch together and sat at my little table, light streaming in through the front window, and as we sipped our coffee out of my favorite bright tea cups, my mom remembered aloud when we purchased these cups and their matching saucers several years ago, from an earthy little coffee shop in Montreal during a summer trip we took along with my dad. And here we were today, drinking our coffee together in my first apartment. I love seeing the threads that tie different times and experiences together, making a whole cohesive something out of our seemingly-random lives.

And on Mother's Day, I must just say that I am increasingly thankful for this incredible woman that graces my life with motherhood and love and friendship. She teaches me so much, from small and practical things--like how to keep mold from building up in my shower and how to scramble eggs really well--to the most crucial--how to love well and practice contentment and not be afraid.

My mother is strong and loyal and kind and compassionate. I want to be like her.

Sometimes life is not all that wonderful. But sometimes, like today, like this weekend, it is. And for that I am thankful.

Cheers, then, to long runs and the beauty of movement and strength in accomplishment, to mothers the world 'round, that very concept of motherhood and my own lovely mother in particular.

I hope your weekends were full of joy also.

bounty.

I have been waiting--rather impatiently, I'll admit--for the start of the farmers' market here in my dear Grand Rapids. I've been reading food blogs written by folks on the west and east coasts, and as they rave about the markets and their rhubarb and strawberries and ramps, I have been, frankly, filled with jealousy and a great deal of impatience.

Thankfully, the first of May finally arrived, and with it, the spring opening of my local farmer's market!

I was overjoyed.

I love farmers' markets. I love the fresh and beautiful produce and plants and eggs and cheese and baked goods and jam. I love the bustle of people. I love being out on a Saturday morning when the air is crisp and the sun bright. I love the farmers: the lovely old man who delights in the brightly colored stems of chard just as I do, the folks with the pretty display of baskets who will employ one of my dearest friends this summer, the couple with the interesting selection of jams--and the husband's helpful suggestion to pour his favorite of them on ice cream for a summer treat, the people with the plethora of wonderful whole grain flours...

It's early yet, so there wasn't an enormous array of produce, mostly herbs and potted plants and eggs and such, but I didn't mind. I just wanted to be there. I wanted to absorb that spirit of springtime, to revel in the joy of the shifting of seasons manifest in new varieties of produce from week to week, forcing us to move with the earth, encouraging us to live and eat accordingly, breaking up monotony with new life and delightful change.

I came home with spirits high and a bag filled with the bounty of early springtime.

with a love like that.

Even

After

All this time

The sun never says to the earth,

"You owe

me."

Look

What happens

With a love like that,

It lights the

Whole

Sky.

-Hafiz

And so I strive for this kind of love, hope for redemption and light and beauty and purpose...

A friend reminded me this weekend that there can be peace in the marriage of discontent and hope. I certainly feel both discontented and filled with hope, but I don't always allow these sentiments to coexist in peace. I have a hard enough time letting this apparent contradiction exist within me, which is far from an actual embrace of it as healthy and good. But I want to reach for the embrace. I want to live in that space of peace.

And I want to do so with a love like that.

Let us light the whole sky, my friends.

photographs and some thoughts on resurrection.

I let more time slide by than I intended before getting this post up, but no matter. Here are some lovely moments from Easter with my parents. There was quite a lot of baking and cooking, much laughter and good conversation and, of course, joy in the celebration of resurrection.

Home is a good place to be.

For as long as I can remember, my mother has baked wonderful croissants from scratch for Easter, and this year, I wanted to help with the whole process to receive a thorough education on making this ever-so-delightful food.

There was much folding and flour and sticky hands and, of course, a whole lot of butter.

And then there was this:

Glorious. What a woman, my mother! And look how lovely!

We then made this tart:

And we ate and enjoyed and rejoiced.

It was a happy Easter indeed.

And now, since we're on the subject anyway, I have a few more belated Easter thoughts to share...

On my 14-mile run this Saturday (25K, I am ready for you!!), I listened to Rob Bell's Easter Sunday sermon. The whole thing was wonderful (and is available free on iTunes), but one part in particular that gripped me was his reflection on the image of rebirth, an image that, as we see in the gospels, the early followers of Jesus really latched onto. And no wonder--we are all so enamored by a tiny, newly born baby. Part of that joy and fascination, Rob Bell suggested, comes from recognizing the vast amount of possibility that exists for that little human being. She has all of life before her--she could go anywhere and be anything--and nothing behind, no pain or guilt or betrayal. There is only endless, beautiful possibility.

So there I was, rounding a bend on the far side of Reeds Lake, in tears because that image captured me so. And then Rob Bell came to the point of the analogy: this is the rebirth of the gospel. This is what Jesus's death and resurrection offer to us. This possibility is ours as well.

And this is what I so deeply desire. This kind of rebirth, this kind of possibility, this kind of hope.

And there is yet another element to that hope, the sermon reminded me. The resurrection was not something that Jesus's followers expected, which opens a question for us: what else does God have for us and for this world that we do not expect??

As I reflect on this once more tonight, I am giving thanks for the glory of the resurrection.

I am reminded that life is filled with hope and beauty and possibility.

And I am not giving up.