I’m having a hard time letting go of 2019.

When I hung that first medal up on New Year’s Day, I pictured that “NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE” theme very differently. I pictured new race PR’s and a few more age group medals. Instead, I ran half the number of races from previous years and my s-l-o-w-e-s-t marathons ever. By a lot. I deferred Chicago and CIM to 2020. I missed Dirty Dozen, my fave “loopy race.” I didn’t qualify in number of races for the Brazen Ultra Half Series for the first time since its inception. I ran four grueling races with a giant knee brace. I was super close to not running my 11th straight SF Marathon.

And I almost quit running entirely. 

With about three hours left of 2019 and those medals coming down, I just realized “NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE” meant something else. It meant laying down my own timing, hopes, abilities, pride, and comfort zones. It meant digging deep for reasons to get outta bed some mornings. It meant reaching high to climb outta dark, depressing moments. It meant writing the final paragraph of one chapter so another chapter could begin. 

All that was possible ONLY by God’s saving grace, mercy, and strength.

Philippians 3:12-14 says to not look back, but instead look forward and press on with Jesus (paraphrased). That doesn’t mean forget important lessons, emotionally searing events, or loved ones no longer here. Maybe I don’t wanna let 2019 go cuz I’m still hanging on to stuff. Okay, yeah, my dad. Okay…breeeeathe. Stop crying already. Or go ahead and ugly cry. It’s okay. I’m okay. Really.

Lots of unknowns in 2020. So much already for which to be thankful and look forward. It’s all about perspective. And knowing the things that are possible thru Jesus are the most worthwhile.

Wishing you all God’s best, trusting in Him for the impossible, and seeing His perspective for the new year. See you in 2020, friends.

First off, that I make terrible decisions. Or at least it’s felt that way with each loss.

Full disclosure, for years I completely avoided Fantasy Football chalking it up to being a “guy thing” but also acknowledging there must be SOME skill involved if people (my husband) are willing to plunk down good money for a chance to win big if they make it to their league’s Super Bowl. To Dave’s credit, he did use his winnings on a nice family Christmas trip one year. In light of that, I didn’t terribly mind his behemoth Super Bowl trophy prominently displayed in our theatre room aka Man Cave. Speaking of Man Cave, chalk that up to another example of poor decision making when I agreed to flip a coin for how the living room was to be used and why my grand piano ended up in the loft.

My entrance into the world of Fantasy Football actually wasn’t by choice. It started back in August when a text thread amongst nine of us – the majority with the last name Tang – quickly got out of hand in a matter of minutes:

“You in?” “I’m in!” “Sure, I’m down!” Then the one “I dunno – I don’t think I have time for it this year. Sorry, guys, I’m out.” But we NEED an eighth person to complete our league! “Mom, you’re in!”

All of a sudden I felt like I was back in six grade being picked dead last for the kickball team.

Wait, what just happened?! I came back from a run to 28 text messages. This thread took on a life of its own with foreign terms like PPR, half-PPR, commissioner, draft order. Whatever. Rolls eyes. I guess I’ll just be their place holder. But I still had to draft a team on official draft day September 4th. What does that even mean? Now I could’ve decided to just willy-nilly the whole thing and go through the process with my eyes closed. Part of me was a teeny bit curious. I went to the supreme source of all things and Googled “Fantasy Football for Dummies.” It recommended practice mock draft simulations. Hmmm. This all sounded kind of interesting and dare I say, fun. An hour later, I had my cheat sheet ready with names like McCaffery, Kamara, Barkley, Mahomes, and Lamar (who?) scribbled down. I was fully prepared to show my family I’m not about to just be their bench warmer. Have I mentioned yet how competitive our family is? And we weren’t even playing for money. It was all about pride and bragging rights. Ummm, for me at least.

I’ll spare you the details, but my family basically created a monster. Turns out I did well enough in my initial draft and proceeded to score big the first few weeks. A little early-on success got all the competitive juices flowing. Dave commented after week three: “This is like when we told Mom she should try Facebook.”

And just like that, my weekly routine involved player/team research, waiver wire picks, Thursday, Sunday, and Monday night football. Actually, it was all good lighthearted fun…until my first loss to the commissioner herself, Meagan, in week five. I was plagued by my decision to bench Marlon Mack and Courtland Sutton that week. How did I go wrong?? I read ALL the analyses! Those choices cost me a perfect record. It was then that I started questioning all my decisions. And not just in Fantasy Football.

That loss came the week of October 7th. That was also the week I was faced with the hardest decision of my life. And it wasn’t about MY life; it was about my dad’s life.

Up until that week, I’d felt I made sound choices regarding dad’s recent health crises. None of them were “easy” decisions but not desperately heart and gut wrenching…YET. My sister and I had been wrestling with a huge quality of life question for weeks prior. That week dad seemed to show more definite signs of agitation, physical and mental decline, as well as suffering. His feeding tube was no longer providing adequate nutrition. We had met with hospice the week before to gather all the information and options available as well as engage them in monitoring dad’s condition. All that was left was for one of us to sign the paperwork. Neither my sister nor I were ready. Neither of us wanted to cut short dad’s days – not even one day.

Hold on. Am I really comparing a life decision to Fantasy Football?

Well, yes. At least one component of both: second guessing.

This may seem glaringly obvious, but why is it we never second guess ourselves when we win? Or when circumstances turn out the way we had hoped or better than expected? I guarantee I would not be writing this particular blogpost if my dad had fully recovered and was living his best life with my mom right now.

Make no mistake, I prayed fervently, desperately, passionately, and at times, with great ugly sobbing cries alone in a car, running on a trail, and muffled face in a pillow so I wouldn’t wake up Dave. I committed and submitted all my potential choices, details, timing, and subsequent actions to God by faith – confident He knew what would be best – for everyone.

When dad crossed his finish line here on earth Sunday, October 13th, it didn’t happen as I had expected. We’d spent a good part of the weekend at his bedside telling him how much we loved him, sharing favorite memories, thanking him for sacrifices he’d made for our family, and singing favorite worship songs. Good friends from his beloved church visited. Faraway relatives and friends facetimed – and tried valiantly to hold back tears. Dad was unconscious through it all, but we were confident he could still hear us. I didn’t expect to be overwhelmed (in a good way) by the presence of dad’s friends and relatives at his bedside. I didn’t expect to get a call from his hospice nurse simply saying “He’s gone.” I didn’t expect it to happen so fast, but at the same time, wanted it to be faster once the inevitable was upon us.

What exactly was I expecting? How had I pictured it happening?

I think because in 2003 our entire family had been at Dave’s dad’s bedside when he peacefully took his last breath, I was picturing something similar. Natalie was seven at the time. Meagan was five. I’ll never forget Natalie’s first words after he died: “Wow, I got to be there when Yeh-Yeh went to be with Jesus!” Maybe I need to stop watching drama series because I pictured my dad’s passing much more dramatically. I would be at his bedside holding his hand, he would open his eyes one last time, look at me with one last joyous signature toothy smile, tell me he loved me, was proud of me, that I’d done everything I possibly could for him and that he’d forgiven me for all the arguments we’d had and poor choices I’d made.

None of that happened.

Being in various service industries for many years, I know that if twenty people leave good reviews, it’s human nature to HYPER focus on the ONE bad review. It doesn’t matter if it’s regarding your teaching, your restaurants, your real estate company, or YOU in general, the stuff that sticks with a vengeance and keeps you up at night is the negative stuff. Yup, they suck the joy right outta you. Ironically, I’ve allowed those things to consume me despite the TREMENDOUS blessings that have surrounded me and been right under my nose.

It was my choice that we had dad’s memorial on my birthday – Saturday, October 26th. Logistically, it made the most sense. Leading up to dad’s passing, my sister and I talked about timing and the very real possibility dad could die on my birthday. You know what? I actually thought that would be an honor. That is how confident I was about dad’s glorious, ultimate healing as I had also pictured Jesus welcoming him with open arms into one rockin’ party in Heaven. So when it came time to plan dad’s Celebration of Life, there was no doubt in my heart I wanted my birthday to be all about the gift of a life well lived.

Years from now will I regret that choice? Only if I choose to focus on the negative and those things I wish I’d done differently. Or stuff that didn’t happen the way I pictured.

Instead, I will choose to cherish the day I was surrounded by family and friends I hadn’t seen in years. The day we handed out 144 personalized golf balls that Natalie and I worked on together until our fingers cramped up – Dad LOVED golf. The day we shared a video montage of dad’s life starting with black and white photos from the good ol’ days in Taiwan to the color photo of our last visit with him the week before he passed in which I’ve never seen him so happy to see my mom. The day we sang two of my favorite worship songs about Jesus – our “Living Hope” and about infinite, powerful, all-consuming “Oceans.” The day I was allowed the mic and an unlimited amount of time (really five minutes but I miraculously ONLY took ten) to share how dad impacted me most. The day I felt the most joy and relief I’d felt after years of agonizing health decisions. The day I didn’t think about what I would’ve, could’ve, or should’ve done differently.

Heading into 2020, there will undoubtedly be an onslaught in hindsight words of wisdom posts and even memes. I went for a long run yesterday on a favorite trail in relatively cold Indy temps. It was on this same route a year ago that I legit thought I was gonna freeze to death – literally – since I hadn’t factored in wind chill and was way under dressed for an 18 miler cut short to 15. I was totally prepared yesterday layered with hindsight, a new down jacket, and a handheld bottle of water (cuz last year I had no idea all water fountains would be shut down aka “winterized”). I even had my GU energy gels in an UNZIPPED outer jacket pocket for easy access since last year my hands were so frozen I couldn’t maneuver the zipper. Bad decision in hindsight. Those little GU packets were no where to be found when I reached for them at the 7.5 mile turnaround. I panicked for a moment (15 miles is a long way to run without proper nutrition) then had to laugh as I thought I had planned this run so meticulously. Call me crazy, but I decided then and there to finish my run fueled by praising Jesus. They say so much of running is mental. Don’t get me wrong; you need to be wise about your running prep and conditions. But yesterday was all about being thankful for what DID go right and not what I could’ve done differently.

So after three straight weeks of losses, on the eve of possibly taking Meagan down for week 16 Superbowl supremacy, I vow to not hyper focus on why I didn’t start Mark Andrews or Marlon Mack. I will instead remember how my family foisted Fantasy Football on me during a season when I needed a welcome distraction but didn’t know it. I will cherish the smack talking and family bonding that I would’ve missed out on had I not decided to take this thing somewhat seriously. I will revel in beating Dave week 7 due to a last minute roster addition – thank you, Latavius Murray. I will smile when I think about Natalie’s mid-season consolatory remarks when I started Niner defense instead of Patriots who had been averaging 30 points a game: “At least you didn’t start (injured) Mahomes this week.” I will make concerted efforts to remind myself that given the information available, I made the best possible decisions – not just in Fantasy Football. And if this whole thing turns out the way I hope, I will be celebrating a Superbowl victory over Dave next weekend. Thank you, Lamar Jackson, MVP.

Most of all, thank you, Jesus, ultimate MVP.

“We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment.” Romans 5:3-5

“Trust God from the bottom of your heart; don’t try to figure out everything on your own. Listen for God’s voice in everything you do, everywhere you go; He’s the one who will keep you on track. Don’t assume that you know it all. Run to God!” Proverbs 3:5-7

“I came that they may have life, and have it to the full.” John 10:10