memoir

It’s My Brother’s Fault

~ Joy ~ 4 Comments

Mud. The very word brings back memories of obstacle races, causing a smile to spread across my face. I love obstacle races–a fact that many people find surprising and weird. What’s not to love about crawling through gritty, smelly mud, rolling through shock wires, or swimming through icy water? Okay, so maybe I am crazy, but I’m not the only one to blame. When I investigated the cause behind this fascination of mine, I discovered an underlying culprit–my brother.

Wow…I look rough.

I’ve always had a streak of tomboy in me, which was mostly cultivated by my older brother Grant. Once I was old enough to tag along, I delighted in following Grant and his friends as they played army in the woods surrounding our childhood home in Florida. I wore Grant’s outgrown camouflage shirts, carried a toy shotgun, and got sap stuck in my stringy white hair as I trudged through the woods to various bunkers. By the time I was six, I had already lost a baby tooth in a playful brother-sister wrestling match. (Grant is still apologetic about that incident.) Over the years, my tomboy streak gradually diminished, that is, until this past year when it came back in full force. Once again, it was my brother’s fault. After introducing me to Krav Maga self defense, he soon had me running 5K’s with him, and–yes, you guessed it–encouraged me to participate in my first obstacle race last June. I’ve been an enthusiast ever since.

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From army games and wrestling matches to Krav Maga and obstacle races, Grant is the one to blame. However, I prefer the term thank. In fact, I think he deserves an applause..

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To my dear adventurous brother: May your days be filled with mud! :)

My Quote Book

~ Joy ~ 1 Comment

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I love quotes. I suppose that’s why I also love my quote book with its sayings that I’ve jotted down the old-fashioned way with pen and paper. Maybe I’m too nostalgic, but I find a special delight in flipping through pages of handwritten quotes on the subjects of…

Music:
“It’s easy to play any musical instrument: all you have to do is touch the right key at the right time and the instrument will play itself.” (J.S. Bach)

Writing:
“Never use a five-dollar word when a fifty-cent word will do.” (Mark Twain)

Femininity:
“For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone.” (Audrey Hepburn)

Learning:
“A mind once stretched by a new idea never regains its original dimensions.” (Oliver Wendell Holmes)

Bible: 
“People don’t read their Bibles, they read you and me.” (Brother Bryan)

Belief:
“Those who believe in God but without passion in the heart, without anguish of mind, without uncertainty, without doubt, and even at times without despair, believe only in the idea of God and not God Himself.” (Madeleine L’engel)

Courage:
“Bravely take hold of the real, not dallying with what may be. Not in the flight of ideas but only in action is freedom. Make up your mind and come out into the tempest of the living.” (Dietrich Bonhoeffer)

And occasionally a line from a song or a poem will slip in my quote book:

“Could we with ink the ocean fill
And were the skies of parchment made
Were every stalk on earth a quill
And every man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.”
(Words found scratched in an insane asylum in 1917)

So, there you have it–my quote book. :)

An Anniversary

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Today is the one year anniversary of my first Krav Maga class. Little did I know one year ago that Krav Maga was going to become one of my favorite activities, propelling me into an active lifestyle of running obstacle races and 5Ks. As I shared in my “Blood, Sweat & Burpees” post, learning Krav Maga has been a fun and challenging experience for me this year. Today I was reminded of a story I wrote a few months back about my first class. After some revising (it’s always easier to improve a story after it’s sat for a while), here is the account of my first class:

My First Krav Maga Class

My brother had been pestering me for months, telling me that I needed to come to a Krav Maga self-defense class with him sometime. I had secretly been wanting to attend a class, but was too shy to admit it, so when my dad joined him in encouraging me to go, I figured it was safe to admit it–I’d go to one class, and if I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have to go back.

With mixed feelings of excitement and apprehension, I arrived at the class. It began with a work-out portion that was full of surprises. I was instructed to run with my hands in front of my face to “protect myself” and had to punch an imaginary attacker during sit-ups. I also learned what walking lunges were, and I did my very first Burpees.

Once the exercise portion was over, the instructor taught us how to escape from a front choke. We were told to find a partner and practice the technique. I chose the only other girl in the group, who was a fellow homeschooler that I knew. I felt horrible choking her. When it was her turn to choke me, I gently plucked her hands off my neck and gingerly threw a front groin kick, but I forgot to bring my hands up to protect my head. Suddenly, the instructor choked me from behind. I let out a startled gasp. “You’ve got to keep your hands up,” he told me. I nodded, my eyes bulging.

The class continued with more choke defenses. Although I felt terribly out of place, I had enjoyed it a bit. After the class ended, my brother came up to me and said, “Well, Joy, now you have two hobbies–piano and Krav Maga.” I shook my head and replied, “I’m not sure they go together.” He insisted they did. I guess he was right.

Summit 2013

~ Joy ~ 3 Comments

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This summer I attended the Summit Worldview Conference in Tennessee. It was an amazing experience–two weeks of lectures from remarkable speakers on a plethora of challenging ethical, biblical, and cultural subjects. I was in heaven.

One of the things that I appreciated the most about Summit was its pro-learning environment. The speakers were open to discussions and encouraged us students to think about what we were learning and to ask questions. Being around so many speakers and students that were intelligent and devoted believers led to many deep conversations about God and the Bible that encouraged me and strengthened my faith.

Summit was not all lectures. I also enjoyed the numerous activities and excursions that Summit offered. I played several games of ultimate frisbee, rafted down the Ocoee River (for more details, you can read my White Water Rafting story), and spent a day at Fort Bluff. Another highlight of my Summit experience was the outstanding talent show put on by fellow Summiteers.

I also thrived in the musical atmosphere of Summit. I met many musicians and enjoyed jamming on the piano with my new friends. I also enjoyed the worship services led each night by Josh Bales.

Summit was encouraging, enlightening, and challenging. It helped me to view the world in a clearer and more beautiful light. It challenged me to not only believe, but to think about what I believe and to live it out–to influence the world and not let the world influence me. Summit was a life-changing experience that I will never forget.

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P.S. Big thanks to all of you who helped make Summit an amazing experience for me. To everyone in my small group, thanks for being so encouraging! Krystiana, you were a wonderful counselor! Hope, you were an awesome roommate! Brittany and Bridget, I loved conversing in Hebrew with you: “aten sababa!” Jenna, you were–and still are–a blast! Sarah, Missi, and Julie, thanks for being my buddies! Peyton, you’re fantastic, and everyone else–I can’t even list all your names–you were amazing!

Also, here is the link to the session video: Summit TN 2013 (You can see me for a split-second on the water slide. Or, at least, I think it’s me! :))

 

Barbarian Challenge

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Barbarian Challenge

The Barbarian Challenge obstacle race was definitely a challenge, although I didn’t feel very barbaric doing it. I don’t consider climbing over cars, crawling through mud, and running in between electrically charged wires as being barbaric. I consider it fun, but maybe that’s because I’m crazy, just like the other eight hundred people running the race that day in late June.

The midmorning sun beamed down on me as I joined my group of friends that I was running with in the race. We stretched and waited at the back of the group of runners assembling. After taking the comical barbarian oathe, the race began, and we all bolted over the starting line.

The first challenge was climbing over several stacks of old vehicles. In my excitement, I foolishly leaped onto the slippery hood of one of the cars, lost my balance, and almost succeeded in knocking myself and one of my teammates off, which resulted in plenty of playful jesting from my teammates. Yes, I was off to a rousing start.

Barbarian Challenge

With the haphazard cars behind us, we ran at a good pace until we reached a standstill at the second obstacle which consisted of a series of barbed wire to crawl under and four foot tall walls to hoist over. After waiting our turn, we completed the obstacle and ran to the next one, only to be brought to another halt. This time though, we had to stand in a cold creek while waiting to ascend the rope ladder scaling the side of the next hill.  We stumbled over the tree roots hidden under the water and splashed each other as it got deeper. Before reaching the ladder, I dunked under water and the warm summer day suddenly felt much cooler. With my hair dripping and my saturated clothes sticking to me, I finally reached the unstable ladder and climbed out of the brush enshrouded creek to the trail ahead.

The next trek was the most difficult. Hundreds of runners with soggy shoes had transformed the dirt trail into slippery mud. We grasped trees, roots, weeds, anything besides each other as we tottered down the winding path and ascended up the next hill. I feared I might slip on the steep hill and fall back on my teammates; I also worried that the runners ahead of me might do the same. Near the top, I lost my footing. Hanging on by a puny root, I reached with my free hand for something substantial to grasp, my feet struggling to find a hold, but to no avail. Thankfully, one of my teammates somehow managed to wend past me, grab my free hand, and pull me onto solid ground. I was quite pleased to leave behind that treacherous hill and start running again.

More obstacles ensued, including hefting tires, running in between dangling electrically charged wires, and crossing another creek. One of my favorite obstacles was the tarp water slide positioned on one of the hills. The race attendant sprayed a fresh solution of soapy water on it before we slid down at an alarming pace. Fearing that I was going to land in the thicket to the left of the tarp, I veered to the right and almost collided with one of my teammates, my screechy “Watch out!” averting the collision. Another favorite obstacle was the pool of gritty, smelly, black mud. I struggled to keep my head out of the muck and avoid catching the barbed wire overhead as I slithered through it.

Muddy Buddies

We were definitely a sight to behold, all decked in mud and staring at our next obstacle, a tall wooden wall that we were supposed to climb over by grabbing the slanted narrow ledges randomly spaced up it. After deeming the wall too muddy to climb, we joined the other runners who couldn’t complete the obstacle and did our allotted punishment–fifty push-ups. Plenty of gasping and groaning resounded from that tired crowd. Okay, I’ll admit it, it was tough, and I was even doing girly push-ups.

Me all Muddy

The race continued with more creeks to cross, more mud to crawl through, and more hills to conquer than I’d rather recount. Finally, after two hours of barbarian life, we reached the last obstacle, a triangle shaped ramp built over an old school bus. Yes, a school bus. I’m not sure why it was there, but at least it looked cool. Thankfully, it only took me two tries to run up the ramp, grab the snarly rope,  and scale the wall. After two and a half long, challenging, and fun hours, we placed our arms around each other’s shoulders and triumphantly crossed the finish line, clad in mud and pride. Maybe I did feel a little bit like a barbarian.

June, 2013

The Motor Home

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Papa and RV

Some of my favorite memories were made within the narrow walls of the old motor home parked in the side yard of my childhood home in Florida. I remember climbing the small  tree directly in front of the RV and peering through the tinted windshield at my grandpa sitting inside, classical music emanating from his radio. It wasn’t exactly the motor home itself, but the delightful residents who lived in it for part of each year—my grandparents– that transformed the motor home into something glorious.

The old RV was cream colored with a sky blue streak running across it.The inside was narrow, even to my youthful estimation. It was sparsely decorated, but quite crowded due to the close quarters. I can still hear the constant ticking of the blue flower shaped clock in the kitchenette portion, and I remember the sparkling purple candle that I had bought for Grandma poised on a shelf.

It was in the motor home that my grandma helped me stumble through one of my first chapter books, “Surprise Island,” the second book in the Boxcar Children series. I remember her giving me a page marker and instructing me with reading tips, such as, how to move my finger across the page as I read.

Another favorite memory from the beloved motor home is the game nights I shared there with my grandparents. Before bedtime, I would slip away to the RV and we would sit around the small kitchen table and play Boggle. Time sped away as we enjoyed each other’s company.

As the years went by, my relationship with the motor home and its residents changed. I no longer ran over there to show off my new winter jacket, or to take reading lessons, but for more serious things. I remember escaping to the motor home to pray with my grandparents over a troubling issue.

Life has changed since those motorhome days. I have moved from Florida, the RV has been sold, and my dear grandma has passed away. The motorhome days seem so far away, and definitely locked away. I can never have them back, yet the memories made within those narrow walls will always hold a special place in my heart.

June, 2013

My First 5K

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Grant and Me and our Medals

The sun the was already sloping in the western sky as Grant and I arrived at the Coates Bend Volunteer Fire Department 5K. The weather was beautiful and crisp, perfect for running. As I stretched in preparation for the race, I observed the people around me: firefighters, policemen, race attendants, runners, and spectators. The eccentric garb of some of the runners brought a smile to my lips.

“The race will be starting in ten minutes!” heralded a man with a megaphone. Grant and I joined the runners congregating behind the starting line. This was my first 5K, and my goal was to run it in under thirty minutes.

An elderly man lead the group in prayer, an act which I found surprising and wonderful. Eagerly, I awaited the start, yet I was taken off guard when the buzzer finally rang.  As the runners whizzed past me, I quickly switched into “race mode” and joined the charging mob.

The race progressed, and by the time I had reached the first mile marker, I was beginning to feel the burn in my legs and a cramp in my chest. Without stopping, I grasped a water cup from a race attendant and took a gulp, splattering water on my shirt in the process. Down the residential streets I ran, trying to keep alongside Grant.

At the second mile marker, I took another awkward gulp of water that sent me into a coughing spasm. My forehead was wet with perspiration, my legs fatigued, my abdomen cramped, and my strength waning, yet I resisted the temptation to slow down as I had seen others do. Past the spectators and cheering children I pressed on. I was aware that I was passing fellow runners. My whole body seemed to be screaming, “How much longer?”

Around a turn in the road I ran, my strength diminishing, yet my determination still intact; I was not quitting. Suddenly, the view changed. Could it be?

“Come on, Joy, there’s the end!” Grant yelled.

Renewed vigor surged through my weary body. Grimacing and gasping, I sprinted with all my might toward the finish line at the crest of the hill. I could hear my family cheering. My vision was blurred as my feet pounded on the asphalt in powerful strides. My legs felt numb  beneath me as I flew over the finish line. Ripping the outheld time card from the woman at the finish line, I faltered to a stop.

“Twenty-four forty-three!”

What had she said? I was too exhausted to be sure. Grant soon reiterated. I had run my first 5K in twenty-four minutes and forty-three seconds! I was astounded. As I slipped my time card into the box for my age group, I was shocked to see it was the first entry.

I soon joined my family on the sidelines. Faith squeezed me and cheered, “You got twenty-second over all!”

“Well, how’d you like it?” Mom asked.

“I hated it. It was boring!” was my truthful response.

Although it was difficult, I was still glad I had run the race. Grant and I both got first place in our age categories. It felt fantastic to hold my medal, and I was quite satisfied with my race time. I had persevered, run the race, and finished strong.  As we drove away, Grant turned on the song “We are the Champions,” and I truly felt like a champion.

April, 2013

My First “Go Class”

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My first encounter with a Krav Maga “go class” was staggering. Completely unexpectant of the intensity of the impending session, we all strapped on gloves, stretched, and waited for the class to commence. The class began with running laps around the room. Dad wisely advised me to keep at a moderate pace, in order to save my energy. My legs were beginning to protest and my arms were growing weak from blocking when the instructor eventually shouted, “Now squats.” Squats were followed by more running, bunny hopping, seal crawling, and pushups.Then came one of the hardest parts. I had to run, scan, and punch while my partner, Grant, gave me resistance by tugging on a belt that was wrapped around me. After a while, Grant and I switched places, and I attempted the task of being Grant’s opposition. Halfway through the ordeal, Dad took my place, enabling me to indulge in a water break. I reveled in the few moments of rest, but soon was forced to resume action. The class continued, complete with more running, punching, and kneeing. An attendant was sprawled on the sidelines, shirts were drenched, faces were crimson, and everyone was breathing heavily when the class finally came to a close. With great relief, I lifted my fatigued self off the hardwood floor and swept back the damp hair from my forehead. That was a class none of us would readily forget.

Written February, 2013

The Snake Path

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Snake Path

The blazing noon sun beat down on us as we ascended the daunting Snake Path slithering up the side of Masada. After hiking a third of the way up the exhausting trail, we spotted a covered picnic table and sat down under its shade for a water break.  I took off my ball cap and let the wind whip through my sticky hair and cool my damp forehead.

The view before me was captivating. The remains of a Roman garrison marked the desert below. The Dead Sea, which looked more like a river, lined the horizon before me, and the Jordanian hills loomed in the distance. To my right were the sulphuric remains of the destroyed cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. After catching our breath, we tore ourselves away from the view and continued our trek.

We weren’t the only hikers on the trail that day. People from all over the world–Germany, England, and France– traversed the infamous Snake Path with us. Some of the passersby spoke English, enabling Dad to strike up a conversation with them.

Near the end, the trail changed from an inclined path to full-fledged steps. My legs were burning from fatigue and my clothes were sticking to my perspiring body. We indulged in a short break, took a few sips of water, and continued prodding up the dusty steps terracing the side of Masada. We could see the end, yet the stairs kept winding in a seemingly endless zigzag.

Finally, we staggered over the last step and collapsed onto benches under a pavillion. The top of Masada hummed with activity. Tour groups paraded the historic plateau, viewing the ancient storage rooms, cisterns, and baths. A noisy band played Israeli folk music nearby.
Since Dad and I had toured Masada on a previous trip, we were soon ready to leave. Dad proposed that we ride the cable cars down to the visitor center. I balked, “If we hiked up, we are going to hike back down!” Dad reluctantly consented, and we began our descent.

I practically flew down the sloping path. Since there were no railings along most of the trail, I attempted to slow myself to a sensible pace. We had made it back to the start of the trail in about a third of the time it had taken us to hike up. Exhausted, we covered the short distance to the visitor center, anticipating the delightful greeting of air conditioning.

May 2013
Revised: August 2013

The Kotel Overlook

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Wailing Wall (Kotel)

The sun was sloping toward to the west as Dad and I read the psalms at one of our favorite vantage points in Jerusalem, the Kotel overlook. An elderly woman sitting on the bench across from us echoed the peaceful undertone of our surroundings with her pleasant smile at me. Turning my gaze toward the railed overlook, I observed silent onlookers inhaling the beauty before them. Joining the observers at the railing, I too stood captivated by the view before me. There, parallel to me, stood the Kotel with a faithful number of men and women gathered in reverent prayer. No longer was the Kotel only a sacred landmark so often heard about, it was before my own eyes and locked in my heart forever.

 March, 2012