Have you ever run in a road race and the finish line is just up ahead? Doesn’t it seem like an eternity awayt?

Boise hosts a handful of road races for kids. Our kids love these events and make sure we sign them up every year. Their favorite is a 1-mile race held near the end of school. There are over 1,000 kids that participate in this spirited event.

Last year Mark and I placed ourselves a few hundred yards before the finish line. Usually the race runs one gender at a time and divides the kids into age groups – with the older kids going first in order to prevent overly ambitious14-year-olds from running over an absent-minded 6-year-old.

It was near the end of the boys run and Mark had taken off to find our son Noah who had already crossed the finish.

Words are powerful. It’s amazing. They have the ability to heal, encourage and give a vision. Or they can demean, tear apart and damage even the strongest of personalities.

I grew up in a family where some of the older, extended females thought it was their duty to list everything that was wrong with me. My thighs were too fat. I’d be pretty if I’d get a nose job. I shouldn’t play sports because it’s not becoming of girls (but what about the fat thighs??!) I spoke too fast and was way to shy to ever do anything great.

That hurts…a lot!

I was a young child when I heard those words and I’m still insecure about all of these.

It’s not only the words that were spoken, but the way they are delivered.

Have you ever had the opportunity do something big, something special you always dreamed about? The moment arrives and you freeze up. Your heart races, your breath quickens and you limbs feel weak. What you were once excited about becomes dread and you ask yourself why you thought you could do it in the first place.

When our daughter, Anastasia, was four-years-old, she begged to take a dance class. She had been dancing around our house since the time she could walk. She had spent numerous hours watching big bro in all of his activities and it was “her time” to enter the ring.

The day of her first class, she put on her leotard four hours early and had me fix her hair in two little buns. She danced around the house proclaiming, “I just can’t wait!”

Later, when we pulled up into the parking lot of the studio and her excitement began to dwindle.

A little boy turns to his mother and says, "Mommy, when I grow up, I want to be a musician!"

The mother looks back at her child with concern and replies, "But honey, you can't do both."

I was told by my Mom that I had always wanted to play the piano, even as a toddler.  If there was a spinet in the room, I would inevitably be found scaling it, like a mountain climber ascending the shear face of a mountain, looking for a foothold or outcropping, daring gravity to grasp a handful of ivory above me.  It got to the point that my parents decided to get me piano lessons—at the age of "almost five."  By the time I was eleven years old or so, six years of piano lessons on our family's old mahogany upright had convinced me of my life calling:  I wanted to be a classical pianist.

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Tomorrow is World Humanitarian Day. World Humanitarian Day exists to honor those who are serving the needy and to remember those who have lost their lives during their service. You can read about the history of this newly recognized day here and here.

 

Taken from the WHO website, World Humanitarian Day is

an occasion for remembering humanitarian staff who lost their lives serving others. There are many, and they come from partner UN agencies, the Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement, and numerous intergovernmental and nongovernmental organizations. WHO remembers its own staff who have lost their lives with great sadness, but also great respect.

 

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It's become commonplace to "become a fan" of various things on Facebook. From M&M's to "taking naps" you can pretty much post your allegiance or affection for anything and everything. There are even "smell of rain" groups where individuals can affirm the benefits of a freshly watered Earth.

Enjoying the rain is not a new phenomenon. After all, Fred Astaire danced in it, and many a school children has spent hours playing in downpours and their resultant puddles. In our personal lives though, we often refer to rain as something to suffer through. We talk about "storms" and "downpours" recognizing that a deluge of circumstances can often make us feel like we are drowning in the rain rather than splashing around it.

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It seems as if the more technology we get, the more friends we have. The more we network on the Internet, the more we communicate over long distances, and the more we are able to multitask at everything—the bigger our circles become.

If we’re not careful, this might result in a growing number of acquaintances, and a decreasing number of real, authentic friendships. However, we live in a brave new world and it might very well be out of this pool of acquaintances that those great friendships we all crave are born. Learning to use your own primary love language as a means of encouraging and loving others allows you to contribute meaningfully to the lives of the people around you.

Marcie, a young single adult, acknowledges that her love language is acts of service. “I receive the greatest joy by serving others,” she said. “Professionally, I work in the food service industry. So, I volunteer to work in the kitchen at my church. We serve Wednesday night meals, and on special occasions we do banquets. One of the things I enjoy most is putting on a Valentine’s banquet for the married couples at our church.

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Yesterday, BBC News Magazine ran an article about a nine-year-old boy who wrote in to a BBC children's program 35 years ago, telling them that he had a "strange" belief that he would someday know how to save people's lives. This boy did, indeed, go on to become a doctor whose groundbreaking research has saved lives. (Read the full article here...)

This article got me thinking about my own childhood dreams, and I wondered - how many of you knew at the age of nine what you wanted to be? And how many of you have become that?

I started playing piano at a very young age (see picture). My parents swear that when I was less than a year old, I could plunk out a recognizable melody of  "The First Noel"by ear (my dad used to sing it every time we drove past the post office at the corner of Fisher Ct. and Main St. in Clawson, MI, where I lived for the first seven years of my life, at Christmastime. There was a big "NOEL" sign hanging in front.) By the time I was twelve, I was writing a lot of songs and already performing a lot.Today, playing piano and singing is a huge part of my life as a worship leader and performing artist (see other picture).

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