On Dreaming & Doing

"Have you ever wanted it so bad, it hurts?" I asked my husband this evening. 

We'd just put the baby to sleep and I was hanging off the bed so as not to wake him with the light from my iPhone - the one with the screen cracked in a million places that I refuse to repair on principle. (I love Apple but seriously, it's a racket folks.)

I've been reading again, and I'm so excited with possibility that my heart is threatening to jump out of my chest and down into my feet just for the thrill of it. I know my blood is pumping at an insanely unhealthy rate, but I'm powerless to stop it. 

I can't calm down. 

"Want what?" he asks.

"It. Want it."

He looks at me curiously to see if I'm in one of my moods again - the ones where I get all, "I can conquer the world," on him and start dreaming bigger than Mt. Everest.

"Sometimes, it's so close I can taste it," I tell him, choosing my words carefully in hopes they will make him understand. "I know I can do something great, Musa. I know I'm capable of so much more than I'm doing right now. If I could only follow through."

I wait for his usual affirmation, but tonight my husband, my biggest supporter, is silent. Maybe because he just spent $100 on the writing class I decided I wanted on a whim. Maybe because I'm not making any sense. Maybe he's too tired to dream with me. 

But on this particular evening, I am undeterred. I march downstairs, turn on my computer and come here.

To a world of words. My safe place. 

Maybe you feel like that too. I can't be the only undisciplined dreamer out there. Maybe you feel like you're stuck in a rut waiting to be discovered, working to make your side hustle your main hustle. Maybe you're like me - tired of hoping big things will happen because your dreams just disappoint you.

Dreamer friend, take comfort tonight in the fact that you. are. not. alone. I'm right here with you. Sitting in the trenches struggling to believe. Trusting God that this very moment - the one spent in my living room on my couch in my PJs with a bowl of cereal and my laptop, bearing my soul to a world that neither notices nor cares - this moment is meaningful.

We are exactly where we should be. Discontented dreamers make determined doers. There is hope for us. 

But surprisingly, it is not what you might think.

The only hope for disappointed dreamers is a loving savior who frees us from having to try so hard.

I should know. I try really hard. 

***

There I was. Late as usual. Speeding down a local road praying (while breaking the law, mind you) that God would make time stand still like He did that time in Joshua.

As is always the case whenever you're in a rush, someone's grandmother had somehow wandered over to the fast lane and was moving at a snail-like pace. I was sure I could walk faster than she was driving. Heck, I could probably skip faster.

So I did what any good Christian would do. I checked for cops in my rear view, then switched lanes, stepped on the gas, and passed her on the right without a second thought.

Traffic was horrible. I caught every stoplight known to man. I glanced between the GPS, the clock and the road like I had OCD.

It wasn't until miles and miles later, when I was sitting at a stop light that took an eternity, that I looked over to my left and noticed the car beside me. Sure enough, it was grandma.

To this day, I have no idea how in the world she caught up with me. I'm sure she was doing 35 MPH the entire time. 

But the Holy Spirit spoke to me in that moment so clearly:

"You're rushing to get where you're going, Christina. But I'm going to get you there at exactly the time I want you there. You won't get there any faster or slower than I say. You can try to take shortcuts, but they won't work. I'm the one in control."

***

I ran my first 5K solo. It was at the National Harbor and I went out to prove to myself that I could do it. 

No training. No eating plan. No Couch to 5K. 

Just sheer will and determination. 

It started off pretty good. The scenery was beautiful. We ran down to the water and beyond the Gaylord near the shore. It was the perfect day.

I picked a person in the crowd to keep pace. She was middle-aged, short and older, so I felt confident she was a good pick. I passed her not too long after starting, quickly picked another person and matched their pace. I felt great.

But as the adrenaline started to wear off, I started to slow down. Then came the hills. I was running so slow it felt like I was on a treadmill. I can't remember exactly when, but my pace-setters both passed me. 

They weren't the only ones that passed me. A young mother pushing a stroller up the hill sped past me too. I willed myself to keep one foot in front of the other. 

"Hold on! You can do it!" came an older voice from behind. 

Who else but grandma. She was much older with white hair and she called out to encourage me as she passed me. 

I barely finished the race, and swore solemnly that day that I would never, ever come get lapped by a grandma.

***

It can be frustrating sometimes - dreaming and doing, failing and trying again. And it can be scary. I've only ever really had one dream in life, and I feel like it let me down ... or I let myself down.

But God can handle broken dreams and broken hearts. Only He can handle them, in fact. 

And whether you're living your dream, or still finding your dream, or waiting for the big break, He wants one thing of us all - surrender. 

Giving up doesn't seem like the best way to get ahead does it? Maybe not. 

But I've learned that you can't hurry God's work and you can't rush through life. It's meant to be enjoyed in the present. And part of the journey is trusting Him every step of the way.

Thankfully, every time I forget, He lovingly reminds me. Even if it does mean sending a few grandmas my way :-)

Birthday Rants

In exactly seven days I will have been alive for three decades. 30 years.

I'm normally not one to make a big deal of birthdays. November 1st rolls around every year, and if I happen to be feeling good about life, I buy a new dress, go to dinner with some friends, eat some cake and call it a day. 

But this one is kind of a big deal, and I have a million thoughts swirling in my head about what it all means. So this year, my gift to myself is to purge my brain and get it all down on paper in the week leading up to my birthday.

I can't promise it will be pretty, or make sense, or be well packaged. I can only promise I'll be sincere. Here goes.

***

I ran into an old classmate at Grace's Mandarin today. I was running in quickly to pick up an order of chicken fried rice to-go, when I noticed a familiar face in the parking lot. It was G. The guy who beat me out for salutatorian in high school. Without a second thought, I ran up to him and gave him a huge hug.

It had been years, but after just a few minutes of conversation, it was clear we had both stayed the same in all the ways that mattered. 

We talked briefly about what was new with us and who we kept in touch with. He told me about the funeral of one of our mutual friends who passed away tragically after falling ill in another country. 

G made it to the funeral. Unfortunately, I didn't find out until after the fact. To this day, I wish I could have been there.

"How was it?" I asked, not exactly sure how I expected him to answer. I mean funerals are funerals, right?

"It was sad, really sad," he replied in almost a whisper. "I could tell they were trying to make it as upbeat as possible, but it was so abrupt. And he passed away three days after his 30th birthday. That was right before my 30th too, so it hit me really hard."

Sharing the conversation with Musa later, it hit me hard too.

"Can you imagine? What if my life ended now? Right now. I feel like there's so much left to do."

"I can't imagine," Musa replied shaking his head. "I can't imagine what his mother must have gone through losing her son. 30 is so young."

***

I ran out of concealer earlier this week but decided I could survive by stretching the last few drops until I absolutely had to go buy a new tube (clearly, I excel at procrastination.)

After church, my mom went with me to Sephora so I could grab their signature concealer - my favorite which I highly recommend by the way - in lucky #13 - caramel.

Apparently, everyone else ran out of concealer on precisely the same day as me, because there was nothing left in my color except the tester. I approached the counter clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, there were more in the back. 

There weren't. I was devastated. Here I had carved out precious moments to come get my beloved fountain of youth in a bottle, and now I'd have to make another trip. Ugh!

The cashier tried unsuccessfully to console me by offering to call another store in the area. I zoned out briefly, catching a glimpse of the Birthday Gift of the month next to the counter - two NARS mini-lip crayons in nude and red.

"Ooh! Can I get my birthday gift?"

"You sure can," came the kind reply.

In that moment, all was right with the world.

"I love lipstick," she told me as she bagged my samples.

"Oh my goodness, me too. You can never underestimate the power of a good lipstick as a pick-me-up."

I only just started wearing lipstick for real, within the past year or so. I missed the whole phase in high school (or earlier?) where I was supposed to experiment with my own femininity.

I've been a tomboy since childhood which I attribute in part to the fact that I grew up around two brothers and in part to my parents' rules which kept me far away from makeup, colored nail polish, arched eyebrows and shaved legs until I was 16 (and I was a cheerleader in high school, so you can imagine how that turned out.)

"The Cobb women are natural," my father reminded me any time I asked if I could have a weave, or highlights, or any other beauty enhancement really.

And so I grew up bare faced and boyish, and not really caring that much. 

Something changed when I married my husband. Being known & loved for who I truly am freed me to explore so much I hadn't before. 

I've always considered myself a very conservative, classic person. I love vintage. I'm told I have an old soul. I wore pearls with my polos in college and a dress to work almost every single day. And I am a perfectionist above all. I like things to be neat and polished and presentable.

Then I met the love of my life. And I cut all my hair off and went natural (a third time.) And all of a sudden I was wearing bright red lipstick and leather and buying the first pair of ripped jeans I've ever known in life - all the while wondering who in the world I was becoming.

***

I still struggle to come to grips with the fact that I'm a mom.

When did this happen? 

My heart has become so tender it annoys me. I cry at all the awful things on the news. Tear up watching my son sleep. Routinely run my mascara at church. 

I'm such a sap. 

I was never a tough or particularly strong person, but becoming a mother has made me incredibly vulnerable. My heart is on my sleeve when it comes to the things that matter most.

A little life depends on me, needs me.

And it's changed - is changing - me.