Tender Mercies Part Seven: A Letter to My Friend Ashleigh

Dear Ashleigh,
I'm not sure if I told you this, but there is a gorgeous place here in Tennessee called Cox Road. It's a long and winding road that paints a picture of a beautiful life. There are horses and cattle and cute little houses with lots of land. There are porch swings and tree swings, and miles and miles of possibilities. It's so green Ashleigh, and in the Fall, the colors look like some sort of masterpiece. It is a masterpiece actually. And God paints it all the time. I think the speed limit is something around 55mph. But we both know that everyone puts a lead foot on the pedal. I always want to drive slowly down Cox Road, but there are so many cars moving so quickly, that I can't really do that safely or without making a whole bunch of people really irritated. 
The first time I drove down it, I was on my way to my friend Andrea's house after a really long and hard week working in the ICU. One of those weeks where there are a whole lot more goodbyes than miracles. Being new to the area, I had gotten lost and ended up on this road. The road reminded me of you, because first off, it shares your last name. And second, the Coldplay song, "I Lived", came on just as I started up the road. That song automatically reminds me of you because the first time I heard it was at your memorial service when I watched the movie your friends put together of your trip to Romania. ( Oh how you love that place.) And now, every time I hear it, I can't help but think of you. So now I purposely drive out of my way down Cox Road on the way to visit Andrea, just at a speed faster than I'd like. And quite honestly, faster than the law probably allows for.
Well, with all that in mind, I want to tell you about my Ragnar Race. This past month, I ran a 200 mile relay race from Chattanooga, Tennessee to Nashville, Tennessee. Each of the twelve runners on a team run three legs. When I got to my third leg, I thought I might collapse. I waited for my teammate to finish his leg and slap the slap bracelet onto my wrist in the runner's chute. My anxiety was high like it always is before a race. And my body was so tired and so sore. I'd already run about seventeen miles and I didn't know how I was going to run another seven. So I prayed. (More like begged). I knew I couldn't finish the seven miles alone so I asked God to help me finish my race.
And then God answered almost immediately. My teammate slapped the bracelet on my wrist and I took off like a rocket out of the chute and down the hill. When I reached the bottom, my body was already telling me I had overdone it. Tears welled up in my eyes really quick. It was going to be a really long seven miles. I paused and waited for one of the volunteers to stop traffic so I could cross the road. Then I started back into my run and looked at the road signs. I was running down Cox Road. The same Cox Road that I had wished so many times before that I could slow down and enjoy. The same Cox road that reminds me of you and our friendship and all the things you taught me. And I know you were there. In that moment, at mile one, when I thought that I couldn't go any further. When I didn't know how I was going to finish another seven miles. God blessed me with your memory and your sweet spirit. I know you were there running with me, encouraging me, pushing me, pulling me, lifting me to higher heights. And then I didn't know if my tears were tears of gratitude, or pain, or exhaustion. They were most likely gratitude. Because the rest of that seven miles was a huge prayer of gratitude and just soaking in all that I could of Cox Road before I turned off of it and onto the next chapter of the leg. It was such a tender mercy to me.
It was so good to be with you again, Ashleigh. It felt so good to feel your spirit and to enjoy those sweet miles with you. I will always be grateful to a God that would bless me so graciously in a time of need. I will always be grateful to a God who blessed my life with yours. And I am so grateful that your short lifetime crossed paths with mine. Continue to watch over us. We all love and miss you.

  Love,
Jessie

PS: Happy 24th Birthday!

"The Invisible Boat" and a Tidbit on Codependency

"Picture ourselves standing on the shore. Way across the water is an island called serenity, where peace, happiness, and freedom exist from the despair of alcoholism and other problems. We really want to get to that island, but we've got to find a way to get across the water-- that huge void that stands between us and where we want to be.

We have two choices. In the water is an ocean liner, a cruise ship that looks real posh and cozy. It's called treatment, therapy. Next to it, on the beach, sits a group of odd-looking people. They appear to be rowing a boat, but we can't see a boat, and we can't see the oars. We only see these happy people sitting on a beach rowing an invisible boat with invisible oars. The invisible boat is called Al-Anon. The ocean liner honks, summoning us aboard the treatment and therapy cruise. We can see the people on board; they're happy and waving to us. Then there's these goofy people hollering at us to join them in their invisible boat. Would we choose the liner or the invisible boat? Of course, we'll get on the ocean liner, the luxury cruise. The next thing we know, we're headed towards the island of happiness.

The problem is about mid-way across the water, the ocean liner stops, turns around, and heads back to shore where we started from. Then the captain orders everyone off the ship. When we ask, "Why?" he says, "Our cruise only goes so far. The only way you can ever get to that island is by getting in the invisible boat."

So we shrug our shoulders and walk over to the people in the boat. "Get in!" they holler. "We can't see any boat to get into!" we holler back. "Get in anyway," they say. So we get in, and pretty soon they say, "Pick up an oar and start rowing." "Can't see any oars," we holler back. "Pick'em up and start rowing, anyway!" they say. So we pick up invisible oars and start rowing, and pretty soon, we see the boat. Before we know it, we see the oars too. Next thing we know, we're so happy rowing the boat with the goofy people we don't care if we ever get to the other side. "

-- an excerpt from Codependent No More by Melody Beattie

We were not made to be reactionary. We were made to be revolutionary. 

I was not made to be codependent. I was made to be my own person. With my own needs, desires, and decisions. And as I learn to recognize these patterns, stop them, and place a new strategy in their void, I will become revolutionary. I may not be a revolutionary to the world, but I will be revolutionary to my world. And that's all that really matters. The view is only going to get better from here.