A note to an old friend...

To my dear friend,

I remember the first time I met you.  Someone introduced you to me in the girls' locker room in 9th grade.  I wasn't sure where our friendship would lead but I felt a strange sense of pride and comfort standing there with you.

Over the next 4-5 years, we spent a lot of time together.  We changed together physically and emotionally.  You were never too fashionable, but neither was I.  Each new version of ourselves was better than the last though.

I loathed carrying you around during the summer, but loved your warm embrace in the winter.

You shared many laughs with me and our mutual friends.  Most of my closest friends were close friends with you too.  I still keep in touch with them today.

You held me close during some of my most fearful times as a teenager.  You were the Superman "S" when I needed confidence to perform under pressure.  Today I still remember your gentle encouragement every time I give a speech, every time I'm handling live animals, each time I get the opportunity to work the earth, and even when I'm experiencing tearful public disappointments.

The day we parted ways was a sad day.  I knew things between us would never be the same even though I'm privileged to still see you around today.  I've watched you embrace many other little ones, some of which I deeply love too.  I see you nurturing, protecting, and training them in the way only you can do.  

With convention coming up I can't help but think about you.  May you never fade away old friend.

I'm forever yours.  Forever Blue.

(A letter to my FFA jacket)

Letters from Lendy, " Dear early 20-something version of myself..."

Dear early 20-something baby version of me,

Set that beer down and come over here for a few minutes.  This must seem so strange.  Like one of those Hallmark movies where people travel back in time to stop their younger selves from doing something incredibly stupid.  I'm writing you this knowing I can't change your mind.  You're young, independent, and full of yourself.  I just wanted to share some wisdom with you that I hope you remember in the next 10 years and we continue to apply in the following 40 years.  "You don't need my help." Ha! Of course you don't.  I'm happy to report that despite all of your foolishness, we have come out pretty durn good so far.  Can I just tell you how well you're going to age sister? Yeah you know when you're 30 and all ancient and stuff.  People are going to look at you and still call you a baby.  What's that? You're not a baby you say?  Oh honey... Sit back, sip your beverage, and read for a few minutes.  

Hate to tell you, but there will come a time when you'll turn down Bojangles for a strawberry spinach salad.  "The hell you say?" I'm not kidding.  In fact you're going to run, lift weights, and work out 6 days a week.  You're going to spend Sunday nights preparing meals for the week rather than stopping by Panera Bread.  You're even going to drink coffee black.  Stop laughing.  Sweet tea will become too sweet for you but don't fret you're still gonna drink a glass of wine or two every once in a while.  We both know how incredibly self-conscience we are about our weight.  We've been told our entire lives we have a genetic predisposition to be plain, thick and overweight.  That's just not true honey.  And even if that were the case, the hateful, hurtful things that were said to us about our physical appearance doesn't define who we really are.  We will spend the rest of our lives processing this, but I've been told it becomes easier to believe the truth in time.  Don't give up.  Processing is going to help us realize that someday (maybe on death's doorstep at age 45) we're going to do something to reach out to other girls like us.  We're going to help them believe they're lovely, and get healthy mentally and physically.  

Keep wondering about that guy Jesus.  I know He sometimes pops into your mind between all those important thoughts you have about yourself.  (Rolls eyes)  Ask questions about Him, talk out loud to Him, maybe crack open that bible Aunt Lisa bought us 10 years ago.  I'm regretting your lack of thoughts towards Him right now.  You will forever remember and love the way our old church smells like dusty books and freshly polished wood.  You will still cry when testimony is given or people talk about Jesus' sacrifice for you.  Stop denying you cry.  God forbid we have some feelings.  You'll realize those tears come from somewhere deeper than just empathy.  I'm not going to tell you where just yet.  God is teaching you how to be obedient and you don't even know it.  There are still many, many lessons to learn.  Right now you're still living like the prideful little brat you've always been.  Don't worry, you will look back in the not so distant future and see how He is pursuing you and protecting you from your bull-headed self.  It will take multiple wake-up calls, some intense emotional pain / loss, and finally a few blessings before you'll understand what I mean here.  Just trust me that our relationship with Jesus is the most important relationship we'll ever have.               

I'm going to regret saying this....Listen to your mother.  I'm cringing here 10+ years later.  I must say I STILL don't always listen to her but dang if she isn't right when it comes to knowing stuff about us and what's good for us.  You haven't stopped gritting your teeth when she claims she's right.  By the way, she thinks you're starving yourself and you're too skinny.  Some things don't change.  Not to get all philosophical, I think we all have to just go our own way and learn things on our terms.  We could save ourselves some wounds, healing time, and scars if we'd just listen when the people who love us and know us try to speak reason to us.  She may not always go about it in the best way, but someday you're going to realize she's only seemingly fussing at you because she loves you and the ache she feels when you hurt is just as intense.  Someday you'll wake up and start seeing your parents in the same light as you see yourself.  People.  People with feelings and unique personalities.  They are imperfect and they fail, but they deserve the same grace and consideration we think / hope we can obtain when we screw up.  Having said that, the "told you so tone" she uses is just as annoying in the future as it was ever.  Just tell her you're going to do what you want and then file away what she says to think about before you make any decisions.  Saves face, but watch out for that silent treatment though... it's rough.        

We're still learning how to trust and rely on others to support us emotionally.  Deep breath... we're sensitive.  I heard that scoff all the way here in the future....that's going to be a difficult realization for you around age 28-29.  Just wait.  We are not as strong and impenetrable as we think we are.  By building up our emotional walls we've been well protected these past 20 something years but we've denied ourselves some desperately needed counsel and affection from the wonderful friends and family we have around us.  The sooner we figure out how to balance our independence with quality dependence the better off we will be.

Oh and by the way, the fall off the judgement seat of our high and mighty horse is a long fall.  Your ego is gonna hurt after that one.  It's actually shattered some for the better.

Suffice to say when you graduate into your 30's you're going to realize how simple it is to dream dreams and set goals, but it's even more simple to make excuses as to why they cannot be accomplished.  You'll realize this after you fight with your personal trainer about meal preparation and giving up half & half in your coffee.  You're going to really admire and appreciate folks who dream big and then work to make it happen.  You're going to want to be a part of that even if failure is involved which isn't always comfortable for you.  We are growing.  

Your work wagon is loaded my love.  It's only going to get worse as you further your career, try other new things, and maybe give into the world's wishes and have some babies.  Now we're both laughing.  Don't let your priorities and creativity fall by the wayside because you become overwhelmed with the obligations of the daily grind.  Where there is a will, surely there is a way.  Yeah, now I'm sounding old and cliché.  There are a lot of other important little nuggets I wanted to share with you but this letter is getting long and it's getting extremely late.  I wanna wrap this up before you think it's okay to crack open another beer.  You may not love me right now, but you'll learn to in time.  If anyone else reads this letter they're going to realize how challenging the pronouns were.
"What are pronouns?"  Great question.

LJ        

The Name Game

Today the elastic in my big girl panties broke and I decided to go public with the fact it frustrates me to no end when people do not take the time to understand that my name...however weird, unusual, or quirky it may be... is Lendy and that it is not ok when people do not take the time to call me that especially after I politely correct them multiple times.  WHEW! That was a mouthful.  First time offenders, fast food / Starbucks people that I never intend to see again...no harm no foul.  Everybody needs grace but when you are simply too lazy, too distracted, know me personally, have seen my name in print, or think that my name should be something other than what it is...the fact that you will not take the time to get my name right makes me feel disrespected.  My blood pressure hits the midway point which is high for my typical collected-ness.  The straw that broke the camel's back was this afternoon when I stopped in to check on a gift I ordered at a local store.  I had to complete an order form when I purchased it so my information was clearly on file.  The lady behind the counter asked for my name.  I politely , compliantly, and quietly (my public front) replied, "Lendy Johnson." After a few seconds she said, "I don't have a Wendy Johnson." Slight intake of breath..."It's Lendy.  L-e-n-d-y Johnson." Slight pause.  "I'm sorry ma'm I don't have Wendy or Lendy Johnson listed.  I do have Lindsay Johnson?" There are probably 1,000 Lindsay Johnson's in the greater Raleigh area but only 1 (maybe 2) Lendy's that I personally know of including myself.  Facepalm.  Sometimes my overactive imagination laughs at how I can get away with pretty much anything... I can just blame it on any one of my other identities Wendy, Lindsay, Linda, Leslie, Linday, Lyndee, Lindy, etc., etc.  Wendy and Lindsay are my go-to girl's when I want to be hateful.  Those are the names I get called the most.  God help the reputation of all you Wendy / Lindsay Johnsons out there. 

Ninety-five percent of the time I have difficulty dealing with the name game that I have played my entire life.  The other 5% offer some pretty entertaining stories.  I vividly remember coming home from vacation bible school at the age of 7 with a "Son" visor that we had glued little do-dads on during craft time.  Our teacher had wrote our names on the visors so we knew which one to take home.  She handed me my sun visor at the end of the day and while I recognized the fuzzy blue and yellow pom pom balls I had previously glued on I also noticed my name had changed to Linday.  I was so confused.  Was that my name now? Did she give me someone else's hat????  Where was my hat??? I was experiencing identity crisis / theft at age 7!! I still remember my Mama trying not to laugh as I cried about how my visor was lost or someone else took it after she explained that my name had not changed.  I refused to believe that my teacher had mispelled my name.   

My junior year of high school all of the cool kids were in the FFA and spent the majority of their time hanging out in the "ag department." My friends and I would eat lunch in the "ag office" or hang out in front of the building between classes.  Everyone knew everyone and as juniors we thought we were too cool for many of the freshmen who tried to come in and earn their spot on our turf.  There was a freshmen boy that always hung out after Agriscience class that got unmercifully picked on for not being the, "sharpest tool in the shed" but he did (does) have a kind heart.  One day he shyly admitted to one of my girlfriends that he had a big crush on a hot upper classman.  He said, "Uh well I think her name is Wendy... Wendy Beaman." I never lived that one down.  My friends got a riot out of this and so Wendy Beaman has messages written to her in my senior yearbook.  :)   

In the heat of my frustration I posted a status on Facebook announcing my hate of the name game.  I found out quickly that there are many of you that feel my pain.  Even people with seemingly "normal" names battle folks calling them pet names or nicknames that they never wanted.  There are people that go by abbreviated names or nick names that battle folks wanting to call them by their "formal" name.  I have to admit that I am the worst for giving people pet names.  My poor husband Mike has been permanently branded by most of my friends as "Mikey." I have a close friend I refer to as "boo." Another good friend I shared an office with is my "wifey" even though we are happily married, straight ladies.  I have several Jennifers that became Jenn's.  My dog's name is Bella but we call her "Pookie." At work there is Mac Daddy, Ms. Tripp, Meg, Shon, Real-lo... wow that makes us sound like a gang rather than a group of professionals.  If anyone out there that has been given a title they didn't like...please let it be made known.  There is no room for politeness on this issue.  I would hate to make anyone feel the consternation I feel when people don't get my name right.... and obviously others feel the same way. 

Here's a kernel of truth / my unsolicited advice on this issue...If you don't know how to pronounce a person's name or know what they want to be called...my suggestion would be to just ask.  It may feel awkward but most likely they'll appreciate it and you won't feel like an idiot when they correct you.  If you do mess up and get their name wrong, have the decency to pay attention (hard right?) and get their name right the next time.     

If at first you don't succeed...tri..tri..again

If you follow or read any of my social media then you know the past year has been a time of transformation of some sorts. I have never been a "little girl." I'll never forget during my first year of teaching, one of my students from the sticks referred to me as being "corn fed." All you ag people out there understand the difference between grain fed beef and grass fed beef.  I’m not opening an argument of which one tastes better…just saying.  I have always struggled with my body image and particularly my weight / size. At some point during my graduate career I was able to finally level off and settle into a size that I felt looked good but maybe wasn't as small as I would like. Let me rephrase...I may have been small enough but definitely was not concerned with how soft I was. When I started my job at the Bureau people teased me constantly, "Wait until you put on the FB 15 (pounds)." (Think college freshmen 15). One of girlfriends was quick to say try the FB 60. I swore then and there that I would have no part of a FB 15 or FB 60. But as the weeks wore on and meeting after meeting there was nothing but country cooking or fancy meals and soft cushy chairs or long truck rides I began to notice a difference in how my clothes fit and not in a good way. I decided I needed to do something and quick.

About 5 years ago Mike and I were at the State Farmers Market picking up some fresh veggies and I noticed all of these women milling around me with race bibs and bright pink shirts, shorts, shoes, costumes, etc. They had just finished the Race for the Cure...one of the largest attended 5K runs in the triangle area that is a charity run for breast cancer research. I had never put much thought into running...honestly I never thought I could run but something about all these ladies training and running for a purpose got my brain to turning.

It took me several years and some tight jeans to stir my memories of those 5K finishers one night as I desperately started looking for a gym, personal trainer, something to help me battle the bulge. My mom had been recently diagnosed with Type II diabetes and I knew that the risk for me was now a reality. I needed a long term action plan. I googled and found a local running coach who had great reviews for helping new runners. I wasn't a new runner at that point...more like remedial. I e-mailed her sort of hoping that she would accidentally not get my e-mail but low and behold she e-mailed me the next day, excited to meet with me the following week. We met on a cold March morning in 2012. They had called for sleet and ice first thing and I was desperately hoping she would cancel and reschedule. No..no...I met her at the Neuse River Trail at 6:30am bundled in cotton and fleece...terrible attire to run in but I didn't know that at the time. Other things I didn't know...how weak I was and maybe most importantly how to eat properly before running. I was fine for the first mile running and walking at intervals but about halfway through our second mile I realized I had some serious ish. The bottom of my gut was about to drop out.  The Neuse River Trail is pretty but without any bathroom facilities.  It also borders several expensive neighborhoods in the Wakefield area of Raleigh. There was a black canvas wall blocking out a tree protection area off the trail a little ways. I hurdled myself over the canvas and yes I straight did my business in the wooded area behind someone's multi-million dollar home. I joke with my friends that I'm sure someone had a glare on their security camera from my white rear-end shining. I'm also sure the other people on the trail were impressed with how totally obvious I was. Needless to say it was a very humbling moment in my life. On the way back over the canvas wall following my moment...I caught my yoga pants on a spike. It didn't tear my pants but it tore my thigh. Karma much?

I left that day thinking I would never see my running coach again or really wanting to run. For someone who is as competitive and afraid of failure as I am...that morning was a total disaster, cluster, trainwreck, hot mess, etc, etc.  I ran on and off a little...ALONE....throughout the rest of March and in to April.  I ended up running (mostly walking) in an Autism Awareness 5K in my hometown at the end of April. While I do hate failure and rejection, etc... I'm not a quitter. I looked up the race results after the 5K and was seriously displeased with my time. I don't know what I expected...I hadn't really trained...but it did light the fire back under me to start working again. I contacted my running coach and we've been working together ever since. We don't necessarily meet up very often but we talk at least once a week.

I trained through last summer and fall and ran my first half marathon in February. I cannot tell you the joy I felt crossing that finish line!! I was also shocked and humbled at how many people supported my training despite the fact that they may not like to run themselves. My time for the race wasn't close to what I had hoped and I often feel discouraged when I see how my other friends have progressed so quickly with their training and their race times but I'm trying to keep in mind that my ultimate goal was to be healthy and have fun...not to be some elite athlete. I would like to work my way up to having better race times and more strength but these things take time and discipline. I'm pretty sure God is trying to teach me some patience and perseverance.

Next Sunday is my first triathlon. The change in my training and mandatory strength training have been a good change of pace from simply running but I'm not expecting to break any records or even finish midway in the pack. I'm just going for a finish... until the next one.  If I can get out there and pretend to be somewhat athletic I’m pretty sure anyone that has any gumption or desire whatsoever to do something physical can get out there and get it done.  One of my running buddies says, “Don’t worry about how slow or dumb you look, you’re lapping everybody on the couch.”