you're gonna have to fight

Faced with surgery in less than two weeks, I know I have to stay positive. I'm not sure what will happen exactly when I'm under anesthesia because I don't know just how bad my knee is. So I also have no idea what to expect as far as recovery. I'm just hoping it will be a week or so off of work and then back to light duty.

I know reality might be different. And I'm prepared for that. I just don't want to focus on it.

It's not easy to think this way. It would be so much easier to feel defeated. To think about how all my hard work up to this point just doesn't matter. To determine that the surgery and recovery is going to be terrible.

I've felt that way some. Moments of doubt creep in, and I suddenly feel frozen. And then I pray. It all goes away.

At church on Sunday, I told my husband I wanted to be positive through this whole process. I want this surgery to be the time I got strength back in my legs and my knees. I don't want this surgery to be the time I gained back 10 pounds.

I tend to eat emotionally. And I've done that some since learning surgery was my only option. I allowed myself to be sad and upset. To grieve. And now it's time to watch what I eat, to be healthy, and to do whatever I can to make it through this surgery with some resemblance of a smile.

We all have choices in our lives, and our choices don't just impact us. They impact the other people around us.

My choice right now is to not be defeated. It is to be empowered.

My choice is to turn this difficult time into a positive time. It is a choice to remember that this is only a moment of my life and not my whole time.

Someone else will need surgery in the future. And they might not be able to be positive. And maybe, just maybe, my story will reach them and help them through.

I don't want to just write about knee surgery in the 11 days proceeding my surgery date, but it's what I am dealing with right now. And this blog has always been about whatever thoughts and situations I am working my way through. So I hope to share more over the next week and a half. And then after surgery we will just have to wait and see.

PS: Go mingle with Meg!

(title from "we both know" by gavin degraw & colbie caillat)

there really ain't nothing wrong

There was a time when I loved Christmas. I anticipated running down the stairs and seeing the presents overflowing into the hallway and the living room. My alarm would be set for exactly five minutes before I was allowed to wake my parents and my Nana. We would eat breakfast, sip coffee (once I was old enough and with lots of creamer), and then dive into presents.

My dad was Santa. He would wear a cowboy-esque hat that read "ho ho ho" on it. My brother and I were responsible for handing out the presents to open. And after the living room overflowed with wrapping paper, cards, toys, clothes, and other presents, my mom would set about cooking a delicious dinner.

There were other traditions, too. How we trimmed the tree. What presents we opened on Christmas Eve. Going to church as a family and looking for Santa Clause in the sky.

Being married changes the holidays. It's been four years since I spent Christmas is Texas, pretending to be cold as we sat by the fire. My life collided with my husband's life. And even though my family is hours away, we're lucky enough to be close to his family and be able to celebrate with them.

But it's still hard. For me and for him. Probably for our families too. Because it's not that I don't love my in-laws - I really do (in fact I am amazed by just how lucky we are to have the families we do), but I miss my family and all the things we did for years and years.

So it's balancing act. Because my husband has his traditions too. And we're trying to have traditions for just our family.

One of our traditions, started just last year, is not buying presents for one another. We get so much from our families that it seems almost wasteful to buy presents for one another. So instead, we buy presents for children who need them.

There are over 8000 children in foster care in the state of Oklahoma. And all those children need and deserve Christmas presents. So this year, we did just as we had in 2010, and bought presents for children instead of for each other.

I can't say its easy. There is a part of me that would prefer to spend money on myself or on my husband. But that's not the reason for Christmas. And to think that one gift could light up a child's face on Christmas seems so much more important.

I got to attend a party thrown by a local bank. The bank was a donation site for the Christmas presents, and my heart was filled with joy, probably for the first time this season, when I saw how many presents were under the tree at the party. Especially considering the fact that I knew there would be even more presents delivered before Christmas.

In the future, I hope to have children at our home for Christmas. And my hope is to be able to care for those children who need a stable home until they can go back to their families. If they aren't able to return to their families, my hope is to invite them into ours and to their forever family (if you want to know what a forever family is, please watch this and be prepared to tear up).

The thing about giving gifts for children in foster care is that you will never know who receives the presents or how much they light up. I had the chance once, when I was a social worker, to watch three children open their gifts. I think of that day every year. Their smiles were brighter than any I had ever seen. Remembering that day, remembering those children, it helps me to hold onto the tiniest bit of Christmas spirit.

But I also feel like I am not doing enough. I have such a huge desire to open my home and bring in children and families and to do all these things I have hope to do. Now is not the time, though. There will be a time, sometime in the future, but now is not it.

So I will continue to give gifts for Christmas to the children in foster care. And we will continue on our other traditions - like goingattempting to go to a movie on Christmas Day just the two of us.

Since Christmas is on a Sunday this year, our church is holding service on 5:30pm on Christmas Eve. And while my parents will be in Texas and I will be in Oklahoma, I'll be able to continue a tradition of attending church on Christmas Eve and maybe spotting Rudolph pulling Santa's sleigh.

I've realized, too, what is important about Christmas. It's not about the gifts or playing Santa Clause. It's about who I spend the time with. It's about remembering the reason for Christmas - for me. It's about looking back at the year with a thankful heart and then looking forward to the next year with a hopeful heart.

I mentioned weeks ago my hope to be in a better spirit this year for the holidays, and I've failed. I've spent more time crying and sad and frustrated than happy. The season is almost over now, but I can spend the next days happy and thankful and celebrating the family I have, the life I have, and the reason for the season.

So from our family of four to you (wherever you might be this season), Merry Christmas, and I hope that you are able to join me in finding the spirit of Christmas and the reason for the season.

(title from "why do i" by joe purdy)

stars in your eyes

After a week and weekend filled with delicious, but not so healthy food, I expected to step on the scale today for my weekly weigh-in and see one of two things: 1. No weight loss or weight gain or 2. The first weight gain of my journey.

Instead, I saw a loss. Over a pound loss to be exact. Bringing my total weight loss to 17.8 pounds.

After seeing the loss, I started to notice other things. Definition in my calves. Definition in my biceps. A smaller stomach. Stomach muscles instead of just flab.

It's a start. A step in the right direction. Something I needed after a week of feeling so far from my goal and a week of crying because of every little thing.

There is still such a long ways to go, but in mere weeks, I will be a fifth of the way there.

The further I head into this journey the more I learn about myself and about my body. I'm learning to not go to the gym and sleep in on the mornings when it hurts to open my eyes and my feet feel like bricks. I'm learning to push myself and increase weights when I feel like a work-out is too easy instead of just gliding through another morning of weight lifting.

I mentioned yesterday that I wished I could afford a physical trainer. That I wanted someone to push me - someone other than friends and family. I brought this up last night when we met with friends from church for our weekly community group.

And someone made a statement that stuck with me then - a statement that I am still processing in my mind. The statement was something along the lines of looking at how far I have come on my own.

When I stepped on the scale earlier today, the statement came back to me. When I noticed the definition in my arms and my soon-to-be toned stomach, I realized the truth behind the statement.

There's a part of me that wants to do this all on my own without the assistance of a trainer pushing me harder and harder. There's also a part of me that is terrified of doing all of this on my own.
Really it doesn't matter whether I do this on my own or with the help of a trainer. I'm going to achieve the results I want either way. I'm not going to fall victim to hitting a plateau or of giving up when things get difficult.

It's a choice. Every day, I wake up and make the choice to go to the gym or to sleep longer. Every day, I make the choice to eat what I brought for lunch or run our for a healthy (or not healthy) lunch. Every day, I make the choice to spend my lunch hour in the pool. Every day, I make the choice to eat a large bowl of ice cream or a single serving of dessert.

And I document all these choices on my blog, on twitter, and on facebook. I document the choices to remind myself that every choice really means something, and I document the choices to keep myself accountable with friends and family.

There's a part of me that hates sharing every up and down. It's the part that worries too much over how the words come out. The part that feels my emotions are too varying to share - the part that wonders if people won't get sick of seeing me happy one day and then struggling the next.

But there's a bigger part that loves putting my progress onto a blog. It's the part that smiles when I'm told I inspire someone. It's the part that remembers how loving people and how happy people are to see those they know succeed. It's the part that realizes that this blog and journey is so much bigger than me or the 100 pounds I'm striving to lose.

Because my story is just part of a much larger story. It is but a snippet of a life. There is so much more to my story and to the story of the world. But I still have the chance to write my story down and to hit "publish" so that my story is available to the rest of the world.

And I hope you realize that your story is also part of a much larger story. And that you also have the chance to share you story - that you should share your story.

And I hope you also realize that it's not about how many people read. I fall into the trap of checking the statistics to see how many views my blog has received. And I measure my success in the number. But then, there's that one comment that stands out to me. A comment that states I inspired someone, and I remember that my little story needs to only reach one person to really matter.

(title from "don't forget me" by way out west)