Why I Do, What I Do.

Ellerie Drew

"Do you eat like that every day?" The question came to me as I prepped my lunch during a normal work day.

"Like what?" I responded straight-faced. I already knew what the person was thinking, but really, I wanted them to work for it.

"Well, you know, diet food stuff." My coworker, an overweight middle-aged woman with premature gray, dons the stress and hardships of her life like a mantel, a badge of honor.  She's "earned every gray hair and every wrinkle."  Though we are virtually the same age, she looks a decade older. She opens a small bag of chips and begins to eat, and I hear the snap-whoosh noise as she pops the top of her soda.

"I'm not on a diet." I explain, "I just eat to be healthy." This is my classic response. Every. single. time.

Everley Shay

My coworker often complained of swollen fingers and body aches and was always yawning, saying how tired she was. She continued munching her chips, then reached for her purse pulling out a small bottle of Tylenol. Guessing she had a headache, I watched while eating my lunch: a cup of homemade soup, and a 'Greenwich,' my version of a sandwich: shredded chicken seasoned with herbs and spices layered between large Romain leaves. On occasion, I'd bring in chili or leftovers-even sweets made with healthier ingredients.


"I just can't eat that stuff! I don't like anything green, it don't agree with me. Yeah, it's people like you that get to eat what you want...it isn't fair."

The above scenario was a common one throughout my work history. As I stood my ground for health, there was always somebody around to undermine the 'weird' choices I made when it came to eating. The truth is, I never let their opinions sway me. You see, when it comes right down to it, I do what I do for a reason.

"What is that reason?"

I'm glad you asked.

I've had many people ask me over the years, "Why do you eat that way?" or "Do you really enjoy eating like that?" (referring to limitations I impose on myself.)  It's not because my metabolism is uber-high and I never gain weight, or that I've never struggled with food issues or weight gain.  The reason I try to live an active lifestyle is not merely to look healthy or feel well in my body; those are by-products of good health, and also great reasons, but it's not my "Why."

Simply put, my desire to live a healthy life is directly tied to enlarging the Kingdom of God. If I am not in my best health, what is optimum for me, then I will not be able to advance His purpose.

As a young Christian, I read and studied the bible, believing in its powerful principles. When I happened upon the verse in 1 Corinthians 6:19, where Paul speaks about our bodies being the temple of the Holy Ghost, I immediately was convicted in my heart. I knew the Lord was talking to me about lifestyle changes and habits. (*This was after I'd been saved.) Thus began my walk in Christian discipline. Through prayer and consecration, God helped me (and continues to help me) live a life devoted to spiritual, emotional, and physical well-being. When we live a life of discipline, we are balanced, and we are (made) whole. When we walk in wholeness, we have purpose and confidence, and the world is drawn to us. What an awesome opportunity we have to share our faith when people notice our (healthy) lifestyle!

To that end, my family and (now) my grandchildren need me to stay healthy. One day, my grandchildren will hear how "Lola" (Yours Truly) came to know the Truth. They will learn she is a first-generation Apostolic and hear some pretty amazing stories about her conversion into a holiness lifestyle; they will see her continue to work for God as he gives her strength; they will learn by observation, participation, and conversation how living for God is an all-encompassing lifestyle; that it is, and can be exciting, fun, and active!

Ultimately, they will learn how the energy God gives us through a disciplined life can help us vigorously pursue His passion...AND impart it to the next generation.

I do what I do, for His Kingdom and for His cause. (Pass the carrot hummus this way, please.)

The Road to Chicago

                                                            The 5 a.m. Run

     The morning air feels damp and still. No movement or wind, only darkness and heat.

It’s August in Florida.  Even in the pre-dawn hour such humid conditions pervade the surface of any object -blanketing it like molasses over a biscuit. It’s stifling.

I am awake at 4:30 a.m. with just enough time to put on my Nikes, hydrate and grab my iPod-Really, I’d rather be sleeping, but Chicago won’t wait. The difference between being an occasional runner or jogger and a marathoner is: the discipline it takes to run the extra miles-at whatever the cost. My “cost” is a couple less hours of sleep – which,they say, is way overrated when you train. 

Sleeping is for after the race, after the long run, after  . . . the word echoes in my mind as I change my iPod music and adjust my Garmin.  I’m OTD. #outthedoor.

     I am running across the street in a lit neighborhood that I live close to. Familiarity does wonders for the psyche in the daytime, but running in the darkness of the predawn hours gives way to the makings of a scary movie thriller. Padding down the road, I look around at my surroundings while adjusting my light. Every mailbox looks like a crouching dog, every unlit street light, a potential attacker – and every garbage can I pass wafts a putrid stench into the humid air; I hold my breath as I run by.

Determined to finish my 6 miles ~ I crank up my music (since I am only using one ear bud) and pick up the pace.  Really, I should be taking it easy since my longer runs take more effort and it’s only the beginning of the week. But fear is quite a motivator and my Garmin clocks my pace at a 7 minute mile. . . I don’t expect too many knife wielding assailants to move at this speed or at this time in the morning, but hey, I could be {dead} wrong.

      I round the corner and see a familiar house that abuts my street: I’m on the home stretch. No sprinting for me though– I “spent” it all while fleeing from my imaginary attackers. Maybe I should consider this my speed work for the week and call it done.

Entering my home dripping with sweat, I unload my gear onto the front room table feeling quite satisfied: not only have I’ve abated my imaginary attackers-but the terrifying numbers of the bathroom scale as well!

Never Shall I Forget

“Never Shall I Forget” –

Not my kind of sleepwear

Penned and immortalized by Nobel Peace Prize winner Elie Wiesel, these words echo the travesty he endured while living inside the darkened gray walls of a Nazi concentration camp. His life’s work has been to bring awareness to the injustice borne to the Jewish population during the dictatorship of Adolph Hitler.

     I own a few of the books written by Mr. Wiesel- in his novel “The Night” the  imagery, dark language and descriptive accounts of the horrors that occurred within the camp made me sick inside. From that book, I learned the meaning of hatred expressed in the form of brutal torture.

     There are also many books about the Holocaust and a few movies. One story in particular, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, depicts the friendship between two young boys who happen to see each other through a barbed wire fence in an isolated work camp. They become fast friends -in spite of their circumstances, for they know not the meaning of prejudice. The story was based on truth and demonstrates innocence, camaraderie and loyalty in the face of all that seems hard and cruel.  

The meaning of Friendship

   Our freedoms and the people who helped to foster them bear the responsibility of being remembered not just on certain “holidays” – but the“in-between-days” as well. Liberty-taken for granted may lull some people into forgetting those whose lives were deeply scarred while laying this foundation.

     If we choose apathy over action, ourselves over our neighbor, our own agenda over the betterment of our community – then mankind begins a slow decaying process.

                                 No voice, no cry goes unheard.

She ~Who Likes to Play...

She ~ who likes to play…

     

My adorable Lab mix is insanely playful at times! If I am engrossed in writing something she will come up and nudge her nose under my writing arm and insist that I stop and throw a ball to her. It’s her way of saying that I need a break!  Funny thing is, she is usually right…

    Carlie enjoys a car ride as much as any excited 2 year old ~ she hops right into the front passenger seat and stares out the window at all the other cars. Occasionally she sees what she considers a “mean person” or a would be robber- then into a barking frenzy she goes! Usually she calms down after we speed up and pass the perpetrator but only after I promise her a treat.

     Countless times I have taken her with me to the store at night and she waits in the car while I make a quick errand. Mind you ~ she enjoys the scenery and the ride, and I enjoy the fact that I feel safe when I walk to my car and get in. Oftentimes I am asked If I would like help out to my car with my groceries but I usually decline because Carlie does not favor “ bag boys”…she sees them as a threat. I try to tell her that they just want to help me, but she’s just a little protective of me. #iamsothankful!

     All in all, having a canine like Carlie makes for good company ~she knows when I need a break and I know when she would like a “T-R-E-A-T”! Here’s to more car rides and trips to Starbucks!!

My Canine Trainer

      I am a runner ~ so they say, but not in the traditional sense. Not a competitive person by nature, running affords me the luxury of eating chocolate and enjoying the benefits of good health.


Carlie~a bad case of "Black Toe"

     When I run solo, my running companion is a black lab mix named Carlie. Flanked by her on one side and with my iPod secured to my opposite arm, I meet my daily mileage quota beating the streets of my own neighborhood.

     Of late however, Carlie is hesitant about going outside. I am not sure if the loud trucks intimidate her as we cross a busy divided highway to get to our starting point, or that she simply prefers the clay/grass trail to asphalt pavement.

     After our last four miler, she acted like her feet were sore- (don’t laugh – it’s true!) A careful observation of her paws revealed that the pads appeared, dry, cracked and raw and I immediately applied a soothing salve. Since then, Carlie has been less enthusiastic about running on pavement, though I can still manage to coax her with the promise of a ‘treat!’

     We are similar in that way: I am one who looks for a reward in my daily goals…and while Carlie’s is a meal bone ~ mine is dark chocolate!  Aaahh- it is the Sweetness of life♪♫



Owed To the Code

Owed to The Code

Your skirt is just a fraction
A working man's -distraction
A symbol of nonconformity . . .
It may look so cute on
The bottom that it curves upon
But, it also doth not cover up your knees.

You see, holiness on the outside
addresses what is- inside,
A manfestation of His righteousness.
And holiness is God's way
to honor and to say,
He expects more from us,
And certainly -nothing less.


3/19/09

Yet -a "C" does not define me-Revisited

A "C" does not define me
it only serves to try me,
to gain attention of a higher grade.

It wittles and it tries me,
and often does it buy me
much added tension
to my stress filled day.

No, a "C" does not yet thrill me,
but hardly will it kill me,
therein is the element of pride . . .
for a "C' will just afford me,
a level of generality-
and therein -will I choose not to abide.