Kookie Cut-Outs by Rachel Britz – Delivering cookies and good news.

A Metaphor for Running

July 11, 2011 by Rachel Britz Leave a Comment

I remember the time I drank my first beer. It was disgusting. In fact, it tasted like ear wax…that is, if I knew what ear wax tasted like, I supposed that it would have that comparable twinge on my pallate.

Call it peer pressure or my innate ability to never give up I kept on trying that ice cold, erie drink. Soon enough I started to like it and then eventually after a long hard day I would come to crave one.

This has become my latest comparison to running. A metaphor designed to give folks a little insight into my runners world. As I tell my story to non-running friends it (for the most part) seems to resonate. You see, running is, in fact, a lot like drinking beer.

The first time you go out for that run, it is disgusting. You don’t like it. Then, for what ever reason (ladies, we might call it “thigh-pressure”) we end up giving it another try, and another, and another. Eventually, we find we might enjoy the run a time or two and then one day BAM you wake up craving the darn thing!

So there you have it, my simple metaphor for running.

Disclaimer: This metaphor does not apply to everyone. I learned this the hard way. Some people have never likened beer. Period. Also, don’t use this metaphor with a group. The awkward silence that resonates within certain circles might kill you. Just saying.

In case your wondering, I’m at it again. Running, that is. I don’t drink (real) beer anymore. Turns out, too much of a good thing isn’t so good (for muwa anyways).If you recall, last summer I competed in my first half marathon. It was a great experience. So this October I will be running my first full marathon. Once again, I’ll be running with Team World Vision which raises money for clean water projects in Africa. I have a fundraising goal of $1,000 and I would be extremely grateful if you might consider supporting these communities and villages that desperately need a hand up. Just follow the link and click “Support Team Mankato” to make a donation.

http://twv.convio.net/site/TR/TeamWorldVision/General?team_id=20940&pg=team&fr_id=1431

Glory Days

June 27, 2011 by Rachel Britz Leave a Comment

Did you know there are three rings in a marriage? The engagement ring. The wedding ring. And the suffer-ring!

This is one of my husband’s favorite funny-man jokes. He especially likes to tell it at wedding celebrations. Newlyweds giggle with innocence. Veterans roar with conviction.

I consider the third ring, suffering. A commodity infused into the fiber of all deep, rich relationships. An unlikely, unexpected ingredient. Invisible during those honeymoon years but then ever so slightly, beginning with slight pangs, they are the essence to growth which eventually leads to deep roots.

The price tag for suffering is equal to death. And we all know that death is something our natural instinct wants to flee from. It’s painful. It hurts. It’s wailing and mourning. If God is good, then how could He…

Sometimes I catch myself thinking back to an earlier time, the days of a younger year. Memories of adventure and spontaneity. My glory days. The ones filled with nothing more than me, myself, and I. A time filled with self imposed freedom. Freedom to determine what was best for me and just do it!

Usher in a few children, a marriage, and a mortgage and that’s where you’d begin to see the bend in my life’s journey. A sharp curve, a U-turn, a change of course. A slow, yet steady decent to the low-lands has taught me a thing or two and I think I’ve finally got it…it’s not about me after all! This wasn’t an overnight crash course. It’s been years in the making and (to be honest) I know I’m not finished quite yet.

The truth of discovery though did not come from a likely source. It was the unexpected arrival of death. A slow one. One that He who is greater than me allowed to come, cause deep suffering, so that the pieces of myself could be carved away. Removed to reveal an extreme makeover.

Romans 8:18 says “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

Glory. It’s an interesting word describing the reflection of God through his sons and daughters. Imagine standing before a mirror. Then, from behind this mirror the bright sun in all its glory is shining through. Golden rays eclipsing our sight. Our image becoming transparent with light for all the world to see.

We’ve all been here, or maybe you are here. If not, you will be here soon. Take heart. This glory is our assurance. Our hope during times of suffering. Hope, a promise, a stake that keeps you upright. Glory is not about us. It’s about the plan to use us as a reflection. We can either choose to reject it or step into it with the rawness of being exposed, and allow a good work to shine through us.

When Grief Has No Name

March 25, 2011 by Rachel Britz Leave a Comment

Sometimes grief has no name, other times it’s faceless, and then there are times when you open your front door and its staring you straight on.

This weeks raging flood waters from the Minnesota River Valley’s winter thaw has wreaked havoc on our highways and byways. Yet no amount of natural destruction can amount to the life it swept away just a few days ago.

While clearing debris with a backhoe, alongside the fast moving river, one of our communities transportation workers fell claim to her. An accident, without warning, a precious life gone.

I have not know this man. 39 years old, husband, father of two children. But my heart is breaking. There is grief in the air. I had a sense today that this thick, palpable grief must be making ripples. The unseen ones. A families devastation, their cries in the night reverberating through the wind. I feel as though I can hear it wisp by me in this cool, spring breeze. I pray. I can see it written on the trees as they sway. I pray. I hear it in my heart and again, I pray.

It’s supposed to be spring. A sign of new life and new beginnings. Where is God in this tragedy? We’ve all heard that He is working things out for good but how does that satisfy the raw brokenness this family must be feeling. I ponder one of Jesus first discourses, while in the mountains with His disciples, he offers them a grouping of poetic values. Here in lies one of His simplest statements. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted(Matthew 5:4).”

To be blessed, simply means that God will help you. Our mighty Deity says if you are stricken with grief, He will bless (help) you by relieving your pain. He doesn’t say He will take the pain away but He promises His blanket of comfort.

Today I rest in peace, hoping and praying that His blessing will pour over our valley, covering all those who mourn.

First Line of Defense

February 20, 2011 by Rachel Britz Leave a Comment

Recently I read an article on parenting tips for teens. One of the suggested points stated that parents should cultivate a relationship with their teen that fosters open communication. That way, whether its a decision to be made, a struggle, or a temptation you, the parent, can become their first line of defense.

Makes sense, right? Who in their right mind wouldn’t want that, but when it comes down to it, cultivating that sort of relationship requires focus, thought, and intent. So this fancy, parental tip has got me thinking about who my first line of defense is? I’m an adult now, all grown up. Where do I run to for advise, council, and satisfaction?

In my heart and mind I find myself whispering “It’s you Lord! I seek you first, you are my first line of defense.” Yet, if I’m honest with myself (and you for that matter) then the truth is that sometimes my defenses come in other shapes and forms. For me, this typically involves words. It’s my language. I listen to them, I hope for them, I live for them.

Just the other day someone said something very hurtful to me. Their words stabbed my heart and while I was still bleeding I took out my sword and stabbed them back. It happened quickly, without thought. It was my first line of defense. After much thought provocation to correct an error of my ways, I really regretted my actions. If only I had remembered that my eternal parent was waiting for me, hoping to be my first line of defense, then maybe I could have spared some of the hurt.

One day at a time, one mess up at a time, God continues to show me that He is where I am safe, it’s His words in my life that I need to trust, and that if I put Him first He will defend my heart.

Happy Valentines Day!

February 14, 2011 by Rachel Britz 2 Comments

What is the best gift you’ve ever been given? In my house, between my husband and I, the gift giving department has faded quite considerably over the past 11 years. I suppose, in part, because gift giving is really, neither of our love languages. But it is fun once you discover how to give special gifts that fill the tank of your loved one.

Since it’s Valentines day I wanted to take a minute and write one of my most favorite gifts, from my husband that is. It’s no fairy tale that every girl truly desires her prince. The one who sweeps in and unexpectedly makes a dashing move that causes your heart to flutter, and sigh, and cry. She longs for strong hands to fall back on during weary times. Someone whom she can trust her deepest being with. I thank God for having that with Aaron.

Last summer I ran my first half marathon in Minneapolis. I trained for roughly 13 weeks in the hot summer sun. On one particular Saturday I ventured out for my long run, alone. It was hot and in my mind I was nervous about my capabilities to run 12 miles, a distance that I had never run before. I was running along my windy, back country road and after about and hour and half of running probably around mile marker 8, I saw something shining in the distance. It was a long ways off but it was white and bobbling under the blazing August sun. I pulled my cap down and kept running. After a short distance, I glanced up again and it was getting closer. By this time, I had conceded that it was likely a biker but with in moments the figure changed. It transformed from biker to runner, to wait, could it be…that figure looked a lot like my husband. And then, sure enough…it was my husband!

My husband, the weight lifting super-maniac, non-runner type, was greeting me to run my last 5 miles home. A damsel in distress, refreshed and strengthened to finish the race. It was a pleasant and unexpected gift of selfless love and support. One that I’m forever grateful for.