There is not one ounce of me wanting to get out of the car. Rain bounces off my windshield and I have 10 miles to run.
I open the door.
Deciding the 41° didn't warrant my gloves, I tossed them aside and step out of the haven of my car. I hit "start" on my Garmin and I am on my way to run the streets of the small town where I grew up.
My route begins on Front Street; the iconic street in town. Original homes boast well manicured lawns with massive oak trees flanking each side of the road. Their incredible branches canopy the road. The harshness of the winter has caused these trees to loose many pieces of themselves. I watch my step as I navigate through.
The rain is still strong.
The church my parents attended - as were my grandparents founding members - is on my left, my parents' lawyer in which closed out their estate is on the next block and the financial advisor I now use is kitty-corner from him. Only in a small town can so much of your life be wrapped up into 3 small blocks near each other.
Main Street is ahead and I run by the middle school which suffered a tremendous loss this week. This small town made the news and not the way you would hope for your community. The death of a student shattered people's lives and put an ultra-bright spotlight on difficult conversations. My heart breaks for all affected. #voiceforvylit
The corner farm and garden store where my youngest got his first pair of cowboy boots is open. I make note to be sure to stop and see what new gardening treasures are in for this year. The local transportation company is buzzing with activity. I wonder if my cousin is working.
On a whim, I turn into the city park. A handful of years ago now, the community decided to revamp the park. A massive play structure was designed and created. The company I work for donated not only materials but man hours and machinery. Community helping community. I love that.
I take the trail which loops me behind the YMCA and spits me out next to the creek. My siblings and I spent countless hours with our cousins playing in that creek. Today, the rains melting the record snowfall has caused the creek to spill it's banks. It swirls with activity.
Leaving the park I run by the first house my sister and her husband owned. The rose bushes still line the white picket fence.
Further down the road I am greeted with the sign of the first major housing development the town experienced. Financial shenanigans brought federal indictments and destroyed numerous peoples' bank accounts and retirements.
I turn toward the lush, green golf course. More trees grace this curvy road. A teenager driving a brand new SUV decides her need to turn into a parking lot outweighs my life in the cross walk. I screech to a halt and yell "THANKS" in my mama bear voice. She doesn't even tap the breaks.
The road curves toward empty soccer fields. The Rest Home is ahead. After daddy died, my siblings and I donated to them all of his medical supplies. Lord, there were so many. Before mom passed, she wanted to make sure Dad wouldn't have to worry about it and stocked the home full. FULL. Daddy would have wanted us to lessen the burden of another and so we gave them all away.
My girlfriend's green truck is parked in the driveway. Lori isn't home. She has left to take another group on a tour of Israel to walk where Jesus did and pray where Jesus prayed.
Our favorite ice cream store lies ahead. It's too early for them to be open now. When they do open, they will be busy. They are always busy. It happens when you make the best ice cream on the face of the planet.
Two SUVs pull up next to each other in front of the store. They are parallel with the store and both facing the same direction. I watch a man jump out of one vehicle and lean into the passenger side window of the other. He takes something and quickly puts it in his front pocket. A drug deal or someone handing him a stack of bible verses for the kids in his Sunday School class to memorize tomorrow? Both are entirely possible.
The road takes me by my high school. Despite being a Saturday morning, there are a few cars in the parking lot. I wind pass the elementary school and the original middle school. Long gone are the giant semi truck tires half submerged in the gravel that we would play on at recess.
Middle school; such tough and stretching years. I remember hiding in those big tires and crying more days than not my entire 5th grade year. One, because my mom gave me an "adorable" Dorthy Hamill haircut and everyone thought I was a boy. And two, because I lost my first grandparent that year. My grandfather was a tough old Dutchman who was not real affectionate. Loving in his own way I suppose. The next year I lost my Dad's mom who I most fondly remember giving us the biggest bowls of ice cream we'd ever laid eyes on.
As I have made my way through these streets I am struck by the sandy gravel covering the sidewalks every few feet. Where has this come from? It is all over town. My guess is the massive snow and ice storm that hammered the town was fought valiantly with plowing and sanding the streets. In the true fashion of the town, the streets are incredibly clean. Oddly, the sidewalks are not. This is remarkably unlike the town. Then again, we have yet to see any sunshine for people to get out and tend to their yards.
My route has taken me into the neighborhood my best friend from school once lived. The hours I spent there flood my mind. Amazing how different the place looks now - some due to changes and some due to seeing them through the eyes of an adult.
I stand at the intersection waiting for the only light I've encountered to change. Across from me I see the corner my friends stood and watched Dad's funeral procession. After working 25 years for the school district in the bus garage, they honored him by giving a bus procession to his final resting place.
The light turns and I run down the hill and behind the store my sister in law has worked for 20 years. A discarded vodka pint lays in the bushes. Local kids or trash blown from the last wind storm? Not really sure.
The clanking of a horse's tack gear spills from the open horse arena at the fair grounds. The roads are getting busier now.
I'm in my last mile. Still more gravel. I turn back onto Front Street. The rain has let up considerably. There is no wind. My car comes into sight. My run through my small town complete.
I peel off my soaking coat and throw it into my trunk. I put on a warm sweatshirt and head for home.
The weather man says tomorrow and the next day we can expect sunshine. What I do know for certain is that small town will be out with brooms sweeping off the sidewalks and freeing it of winter's gravel.
Showing posts with label Reflection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Reflection. Show all posts
Saturday, March 18, 2017
Sunday, February 19, 2017
The Learning Tree
The sky a blanket of grey; the rain misty. The air is cool on my face. After sleeping in a bit and enjoying a morning with my boys, I left for my run a bit later than I typically do on a Saturday morning. Ankle recovery isn't all bad.
The neighborhood begins to hum. Saturday plans begin to unfold in each home. My pace is easy. I round a corner and The Learning Tree comes into view. A massive oak tree with branches straight up to heaven.
Years ago I nick named this oak The Learning Tree. Each year as spring begins to kiss winter away, parent eagles will use this tree to teach their young to hunt. A young eagle will be found in its branches while the parents swoop down on rabbits and squirrels and critters in the surrounding field. An impressive sight that never tires.
No eagles teaching this morning.
My hope is to run 7 miles, the longest since twisting my bad ankle (again). The weather is world's apart from last week and the excitement shows in my step. I am happy to be out running with no snow, no ice, no wind. I make my way to my favorite country road. A road with beautiful views and rolling hills. This will be a good test of my ankle.
I've gone a quarter of a mile and another runner pops out from a long driveway. She waves and turns away from me. A runner with beautiful form and impressive speed. I watch as she turns down a private road.
A mother-daughter duo emerge walking from their property and onto the road. It isn't long before I catch up to them. I do my best not to startle them and we wish each other a beautiful morning. The birds sing, we all smile. A beautiful morning indeed.
Looking ahead I see people gathered at a mailbox. Neighbors being neighborly. As I approach I hear "CHERIIIIII!!!" and the older gentlemen holds out his to give me a high five. I give him a high five.
"Steve! I wondered if I'd see you today!"
"CHERI!!!" a familiar voice calls.
I turn to see the people Steve talking with and discover my cousin Ted and his daughter Olivia. They live up the road and were out talking a walk. We laugh at the realization we all know each other.
Steve, being retired, has more free time now to do things he likes to do and that includes running. The first time I ran with Steve was on that country road. Two runners sharing the same road and a bond cements. We chat for a bit before he says he needs to go so his wife doesn't worry. Ted, Olivia and I carry on and it isn't long and we all part ways.
Unexpected encounters interject fun into my run. I am smiling. The highest hill of the road is fast approaching. The house half way up the hill is still not finished. How long has it been? 2 years? 3 years? There is always progress, yet it remains incomplete. I've decided the owner is building it and doing it with his own funds. What I do know for certain is the house will be a stunning work of art. The new wrap around porch makes me long for summer days. The views they will have will be amazing.
3 1/2 miles in I turn around and head back toward home. As I crest the hill again, I look toward my favorite vista to see the low hanging grey clouds have concealed it's beauty. It's ok, I'm out here. And running. I am happy.
The fields are a yellow-green brought on by winter. Soon it will give way to the lush green of spring. Water is running in the ditches and through the culverts. It's melody of a creek. I see where the land gave way sliding into the ditch; another reminder of the harshness of last week.
Branches are strewn everywhere. The Great Silver Thaw, Snowmageddon and wind storms snapped branches off the grandest of trees. Tall evergreens stand like wounded warriors. Their massive branches broken and lying on the ground. The sight makes me awestruck with the power of last week's storm.
The Learning Tree comes back into view and with it the unmistaken sound of eagle chatter. A young eagle is perched atop of the mighty oak. Although I can not find them, the parent eagles are close by watching from a row of evergreen trees. Their instruction was clear and the eagle dives toward the field. Breakfast is served.
My run complete, I open the door to the smell of eggs and toast. I smile.
The neighborhood begins to hum. Saturday plans begin to unfold in each home. My pace is easy. I round a corner and The Learning Tree comes into view. A massive oak tree with branches straight up to heaven.
Years ago I nick named this oak The Learning Tree. Each year as spring begins to kiss winter away, parent eagles will use this tree to teach their young to hunt. A young eagle will be found in its branches while the parents swoop down on rabbits and squirrels and critters in the surrounding field. An impressive sight that never tires.
No eagles teaching this morning.
My hope is to run 7 miles, the longest since twisting my bad ankle (again). The weather is world's apart from last week and the excitement shows in my step. I am happy to be out running with no snow, no ice, no wind. I make my way to my favorite country road. A road with beautiful views and rolling hills. This will be a good test of my ankle.
I've gone a quarter of a mile and another runner pops out from a long driveway. She waves and turns away from me. A runner with beautiful form and impressive speed. I watch as she turns down a private road.
A mother-daughter duo emerge walking from their property and onto the road. It isn't long before I catch up to them. I do my best not to startle them and we wish each other a beautiful morning. The birds sing, we all smile. A beautiful morning indeed.
Looking ahead I see people gathered at a mailbox. Neighbors being neighborly. As I approach I hear "CHERIIIIII!!!" and the older gentlemen holds out his to give me a high five. I give him a high five.
"Steve! I wondered if I'd see you today!"
"CHERI!!!" a familiar voice calls.
I turn to see the people Steve talking with and discover my cousin Ted and his daughter Olivia. They live up the road and were out talking a walk. We laugh at the realization we all know each other.
Steve, being retired, has more free time now to do things he likes to do and that includes running. The first time I ran with Steve was on that country road. Two runners sharing the same road and a bond cements. We chat for a bit before he says he needs to go so his wife doesn't worry. Ted, Olivia and I carry on and it isn't long and we all part ways.
Unexpected encounters interject fun into my run. I am smiling. The highest hill of the road is fast approaching. The house half way up the hill is still not finished. How long has it been? 2 years? 3 years? There is always progress, yet it remains incomplete. I've decided the owner is building it and doing it with his own funds. What I do know for certain is the house will be a stunning work of art. The new wrap around porch makes me long for summer days. The views they will have will be amazing.
3 1/2 miles in I turn around and head back toward home. As I crest the hill again, I look toward my favorite vista to see the low hanging grey clouds have concealed it's beauty. It's ok, I'm out here. And running. I am happy.
The fields are a yellow-green brought on by winter. Soon it will give way to the lush green of spring. Water is running in the ditches and through the culverts. It's melody of a creek. I see where the land gave way sliding into the ditch; another reminder of the harshness of last week.
Branches are strewn everywhere. The Great Silver Thaw, Snowmageddon and wind storms snapped branches off the grandest of trees. Tall evergreens stand like wounded warriors. Their massive branches broken and lying on the ground. The sight makes me awestruck with the power of last week's storm.
The Learning Tree comes back into view and with it the unmistaken sound of eagle chatter. A young eagle is perched atop of the mighty oak. Although I can not find them, the parent eagles are close by watching from a row of evergreen trees. Their instruction was clear and the eagle dives toward the field. Breakfast is served.
My run complete, I open the door to the smell of eggs and toast. I smile.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Running Steps of 2015
As soon as my watch hit 9.77 miles, I stop my run and give myself a high five. It's possible - just ask the 2 sheriffs sitting in their parked cars watching this anomaly happen. Normally I would not stop a run this short of a gloriously round number like 10 (I may have OCD tendencies) yet I do today. 9.77 miles pushed me to 1,420 miles for the year.
1,420 healing and life giving miles. This number I celebrate. Today's run - the last one in 2015 - was a reflective one. Each one of those miles taught me about myself.
Today the sun shines bright in the cold December sky. The northerly wind puts the air at a brisk 28°; all reminiscent of the start of the year. Those were some incredibly difficult miles. Losing both my parents within a year of each other and both at Christmas brought a darkness and a sadness I have never known. January and February's running steps held many, many tears, brokenness, peace and comfort.
Running steps didn't happen much in those first months. Some days it was a good day by getting out of bed. Some days it was a really good day by getting out of bed and getting pants on. The rest of the world appreciated that too.
March came ushering in spring. Sunnier days with birds singing and warmer temps made running steps easier. My running friends always making it a point to push me forward. We got a summer marathon on the calendar and with it came a training plan. On the days when I felt I had no energy to tie my shoes, I did. After all, my friends were waiting.
Those running steps brought me strength.
The trees around me clear and I am passing a farmer's field. Mount Baker stands regal in it's beauty. Psalm 46 comes to mind, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore I will not fear, though the earth should change and the mountains slip into the heart of the sea." I wonder what it would take to make something as strong and sturdy as Mount Baker slip into the heart of the sea.
I think about God as my strength. I think about who He surrounded me with during this difficult year. Many people come to mind, and I am overwhelmed when I think of each of them. One of those strengths He gave me is a fabulous woman who is the most outgoing introvert you will ever meet. And she gets me. Oh, does she get me.
As a fellow introvert she wasn't afraid when I would retreat away from the world. She let me be in the scary lonely places in my heart, but would always be there with a nudge when she thought it best for me to come back out into the world.
"Let's meet for dinner after church."
"It's time to plan a date night, what night works best?"
"How 'bout we eat some Russian perogies Saturday night?"
She prayed with me in the ICU when my dad was given a 10% chance to live. She prayed for me more times than I will ever know. She also makes me laugh until I snort. Countless times while I ran I thanked God for putting her in my life.
Those running steps taught me gratitude.
The summer marathon came. So did the hot summer sun. I do not run well in the heat. This marathon crumbled beneath me and I let it. At times I was dizzy on the course, and I knew full well what that meant, but knowing the fight both my parents showed in their last days I would not quit. With 2 friends at my side, we walked and ran and talked about many things. The emotional highs and lows of the previous months had taken it's toll on me physically. Everyone (but me) could recognize that; I finally accepted it.
Those running steps taught me the importance of health.
A runner passes me on a quiet country road. Where did he come from? He startled me and I karate chopped him. Or maybe I screamed and said, "You scared me!"
The months of 2015 began peeling away. Focusing on my emotional and physical health, I gave myself permission to "just run". I signed up for a fall marathon and the entire goal was to enjoy every single step. My BRSs (Best Running Sisters) signed up with me and each week's long run we worked on falling in love with running again. No speed work, no tempo runs, no "have-to-do-this". We simply ran.
It worked. This marathon we laughed and took our time. If we felt like walking we did, if we wanted to run, we did. We enjoyed every single step. We ran by multi-million dollar homes in Seattle and made up stories about the people who owned them.
The finisher medals double as beer bottle openers (score!) and the race director made sure there was plenty of hot soup waiting as it was a cold 32° when we finished.
Those running steps taught me that to love running is a choice.
I'm closing in on the 9.77 miles. Once again Mount Baker comes into view and this time faint oranges and yellows kiss the snow. The sun will set soon on this last day of 2015.
1,420 miles and I close out my running year. There have been higher mileage years, faster mileage years but none near as important. I'm hard pressed to recount a running year that has meant more to me than this one.
This running year showed me that my running friends are not people I'm just sharing Saturday morning runs with; they are family. They uphold me, cry with me, laugh with me, and push me out the door to run. They make me a better me.
I look forward to sharing many miles with them in 2016.
Happiest of New Years my friends.
1,420 healing and life giving miles. This number I celebrate. Today's run - the last one in 2015 - was a reflective one. Each one of those miles taught me about myself.
Today the sun shines bright in the cold December sky. The northerly wind puts the air at a brisk 28°; all reminiscent of the start of the year. Those were some incredibly difficult miles. Losing both my parents within a year of each other and both at Christmas brought a darkness and a sadness I have never known. January and February's running steps held many, many tears, brokenness, peace and comfort.
Running steps didn't happen much in those first months. Some days it was a good day by getting out of bed. Some days it was a really good day by getting out of bed and getting pants on. The rest of the world appreciated that too.
March came ushering in spring. Sunnier days with birds singing and warmer temps made running steps easier. My running friends always making it a point to push me forward. We got a summer marathon on the calendar and with it came a training plan. On the days when I felt I had no energy to tie my shoes, I did. After all, my friends were waiting.
Those running steps brought me strength.
The trees around me clear and I am passing a farmer's field. Mount Baker stands regal in it's beauty. Psalm 46 comes to mind, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore I will not fear, though the earth should change and the mountains slip into the heart of the sea." I wonder what it would take to make something as strong and sturdy as Mount Baker slip into the heart of the sea. I think about God as my strength. I think about who He surrounded me with during this difficult year. Many people come to mind, and I am overwhelmed when I think of each of them. One of those strengths He gave me is a fabulous woman who is the most outgoing introvert you will ever meet. And she gets me. Oh, does she get me.
As a fellow introvert she wasn't afraid when I would retreat away from the world. She let me be in the scary lonely places in my heart, but would always be there with a nudge when she thought it best for me to come back out into the world.
"Let's meet for dinner after church."
"It's time to plan a date night, what night works best?"
"How 'bout we eat some Russian perogies Saturday night?"
She prayed with me in the ICU when my dad was given a 10% chance to live. She prayed for me more times than I will ever know. She also makes me laugh until I snort. Countless times while I ran I thanked God for putting her in my life.
Those running steps taught me gratitude.
The summer marathon came. So did the hot summer sun. I do not run well in the heat. This marathon crumbled beneath me and I let it. At times I was dizzy on the course, and I knew full well what that meant, but knowing the fight both my parents showed in their last days I would not quit. With 2 friends at my side, we walked and ran and talked about many things. The emotional highs and lows of the previous months had taken it's toll on me physically. Everyone (but me) could recognize that; I finally accepted it.
Those running steps taught me the importance of health.
A runner passes me on a quiet country road. Where did he come from? He startled me and I karate chopped him. Or maybe I screamed and said, "You scared me!"
The months of 2015 began peeling away. Focusing on my emotional and physical health, I gave myself permission to "just run". I signed up for a fall marathon and the entire goal was to enjoy every single step. My BRSs (Best Running Sisters) signed up with me and each week's long run we worked on falling in love with running again. No speed work, no tempo runs, no "have-to-do-this". We simply ran.
It worked. This marathon we laughed and took our time. If we felt like walking we did, if we wanted to run, we did. We enjoyed every single step. We ran by multi-million dollar homes in Seattle and made up stories about the people who owned them.
The finisher medals double as beer bottle openers (score!) and the race director made sure there was plenty of hot soup waiting as it was a cold 32° when we finished.
Those running steps taught me that to love running is a choice.
I'm closing in on the 9.77 miles. Once again Mount Baker comes into view and this time faint oranges and yellows kiss the snow. The sun will set soon on this last day of 2015.
1,420 miles and I close out my running year. There have been higher mileage years, faster mileage years but none near as important. I'm hard pressed to recount a running year that has meant more to me than this one.
This running year showed me that my running friends are not people I'm just sharing Saturday morning runs with; they are family. They uphold me, cry with me, laugh with me, and push me out the door to run. They make me a better me.
I look forward to sharing many miles with them in 2016.
Happiest of New Years my friends.
Thursday, September 24, 2015
A Pocket Full Of Promise
The calendar reads April but my days are all a blur. It's been 3 1/2 months since Dad died.
My siblings and I have been working diligently on cleaning out the house. 47 years of memories are packed into every corner of their home; making the job at times seem endless. Boxes of forgotten memories from years past were opened and rediscovered. Wood working projects dad started remain unfinished where they stood in his workshop. Never did we think a pile of sawdust on the floor could make us cry.
Grief does that. It has a knack of taking something simple and seemingly unimportant and breathes a different kind of life into it. Like the potato masher I found on the kitchen counter. A simple kitchen utensil used in homes every day. Yet I picked up this potato masher and held onto it tightly. Dad had made mashed potatoes for our Christmas Eve dinner. Mashed potatoes that never made it to the Christmas Eve table; they remained in the front seat of his car after the accident. This potato masher was one of the very last things he held. And now, this potato masher held great importance to me.
On this day in April we were on the final room of the house. We worked clearing out one room at a time and today the last room sat quietly waiting. Their bedroom. The sacred room in any marriage. 47 years of love and heartache and laughter and life happened in that room. And there I was standing in the middle of this sacredness.
My siblings would be there soon enough, I was early. I dreaded cleaning out this room not because of it's condition, but because I knew it would be one of great emotional difficulty. I stood there not knowing where to start. Dad's work clothes hung where he left them on Christmas Eve. Taking in a deep breath, I pick up his work shirt.
Really God? This is my life story? First mom at Christmas last year and now Dad this Christmas? Why is THIS my life story? Did Dad's death have to be so...violent? I don't get it God. I really don't understand.
This conversation with God is one I've had many times. Immersed in emotion while standing in their room, I figured it would be another good time to ask Him these questions unsure if answers will ever be given. Yet, I ask and if I'm honest, at times, demand.
I reach into the pocket of Dad's shirt and find an old pocket calendar from 2010. I can't help but wonder why Dad is carrying around a calendar that is 5 years old. The edges are worn and the pages are frayed. I see the grease smudges from his mechanic hands. Knowing I will have to turn each page in case there is anything important hidden in them, I take a deep breath.
The pages hold nondescript notes; I run my finger over his handwriting.
Jesus? Tell Dad I miss him.
Oh look, here is mom's social security number written on a loose piece of paper. This was just like Dad to keep her social security number close by just in case.
God, I'm not sure my heart can handle all this heartache. I can't believe I'm having to go through his pockets. Why God? Just...why?
What's this? I unfold a piece of paper that was tucked in between two pages. It's a handwritten note by Dad. The words pierce my heart and I begin to weep.
I am stunned. Had I not just been asking God these questions? Had I not been wrestling with these very things?
God, did you just reach down from heaven and put that there for me?
My tears fall freely. It is undeniable I was meant to find this note on this day. God answered my questions. Although I do not know the 'why' this is happening in my life, I do know God wipes away my tears and helps move me toward tomorrow.
Dad's days were perfectly numbered by God. Although his death was a shock to our family, it was not a surprise to God. When we walk in the Valley of the Shadow of Death I remind myself of this. I'll see Dad again and God promises to walk each step with me until then.
The days aren't as difficult as they had been. I still have Dad's note. It now hangs in a frame in my living room. Sometimes I look at his handwriting and wonder if God opened heaven that day and dropped that note into Dad's pocket for me to find. God gave me exactly what I needed when I needed it. An encouraging note, handwritten by Dad, reminding me of God's love, hope, and promise. A promise Dad now experiences. Forever.
**Original quote by Anna Bachinsky
My siblings and I have been working diligently on cleaning out the house. 47 years of memories are packed into every corner of their home; making the job at times seem endless. Boxes of forgotten memories from years past were opened and rediscovered. Wood working projects dad started remain unfinished where they stood in his workshop. Never did we think a pile of sawdust on the floor could make us cry.
Grief does that. It has a knack of taking something simple and seemingly unimportant and breathes a different kind of life into it. Like the potato masher I found on the kitchen counter. A simple kitchen utensil used in homes every day. Yet I picked up this potato masher and held onto it tightly. Dad had made mashed potatoes for our Christmas Eve dinner. Mashed potatoes that never made it to the Christmas Eve table; they remained in the front seat of his car after the accident. This potato masher was one of the very last things he held. And now, this potato masher held great importance to me.
On this day in April we were on the final room of the house. We worked clearing out one room at a time and today the last room sat quietly waiting. Their bedroom. The sacred room in any marriage. 47 years of love and heartache and laughter and life happened in that room. And there I was standing in the middle of this sacredness.
My siblings would be there soon enough, I was early. I dreaded cleaning out this room not because of it's condition, but because I knew it would be one of great emotional difficulty. I stood there not knowing where to start. Dad's work clothes hung where he left them on Christmas Eve. Taking in a deep breath, I pick up his work shirt.
Really God? This is my life story? First mom at Christmas last year and now Dad this Christmas? Why is THIS my life story? Did Dad's death have to be so...violent? I don't get it God. I really don't understand.
This conversation with God is one I've had many times. Immersed in emotion while standing in their room, I figured it would be another good time to ask Him these questions unsure if answers will ever be given. Yet, I ask and if I'm honest, at times, demand.
I reach into the pocket of Dad's shirt and find an old pocket calendar from 2010. I can't help but wonder why Dad is carrying around a calendar that is 5 years old. The edges are worn and the pages are frayed. I see the grease smudges from his mechanic hands. Knowing I will have to turn each page in case there is anything important hidden in them, I take a deep breath.
The pages hold nondescript notes; I run my finger over his handwriting.
Jesus? Tell Dad I miss him.
Oh look, here is mom's social security number written on a loose piece of paper. This was just like Dad to keep her social security number close by just in case.
God, I'm not sure my heart can handle all this heartache. I can't believe I'm having to go through his pockets. Why God? Just...why?
What's this? I unfold a piece of paper that was tucked in between two pages. It's a handwritten note by Dad. The words pierce my heart and I begin to weep.
"Where you are today is no accident. God is using the situation you are in right now to shape you and prepare you for the place He wants to bring you into tomorrow. Trust Him with His plan even if you don't understand it."**
I am stunned. Had I not just been asking God these questions? Had I not been wrestling with these very things?
God, did you just reach down from heaven and put that there for me?
My tears fall freely. It is undeniable I was meant to find this note on this day. God answered my questions. Although I do not know the 'why' this is happening in my life, I do know God wipes away my tears and helps move me toward tomorrow.
Dad's days were perfectly numbered by God. Although his death was a shock to our family, it was not a surprise to God. When we walk in the Valley of the Shadow of Death I remind myself of this. I'll see Dad again and God promises to walk each step with me until then.
The days aren't as difficult as they had been. I still have Dad's note. It now hangs in a frame in my living room. Sometimes I look at his handwriting and wonder if God opened heaven that day and dropped that note into Dad's pocket for me to find. God gave me exactly what I needed when I needed it. An encouraging note, handwritten by Dad, reminding me of God's love, hope, and promise. A promise Dad now experiences. Forever.
**Original quote by Anna Bachinsky
Friday, August 22, 2014
The Girl At The Track
She caught the corner of my eye. Her hair, tied in a loose ponytail, bobbed up and down as she ran around the track of a local high school. She wore a cotton t-shirt and long grey sweatpants. It was over 90° on that black-ovaled track and I knew she had to have been hot. Weight loss seemed to be her goal as she appeared 100 pounds overweight.
Breathing hard due to the pace I was running, she could hear me coming near her. As I approached, she turned her head and body away from me. I knew what that meant, there was no mistaking it. She was hiding. She wasn't a real runner.
I know, because I use to be that girl.
The Gift Of Strep Throat
It was April 2003 and I had come down with a nasty sore throat. My husband suspected strep and urged me to go see the doctor. I had never experienced strep throat before but I knew it was contagious. My babies were 6 and 1½ years old and I didn't want them getting sick.
At the doctor's office, the nurse had me step onto the scale - the Dreaded Scale. It had been a year and a half since the baby was born and I couldn't shed the baby weight. I had made peace with my new mommy-size.
Hesitantly I stepped on the scale. I did a double take at the numbers before me. This can't be right. The Dreaded Scale had budged. I had lost 5 pounds. The strep throat had made it difficult to eat helping me lose 5 pounds in the process. The revelation the weight could come off gave me a grin so wide the nurse asked me if I was ok.
The big question I faced now became "What am I going to do to keep it off?". With two young boys and my husband and I both working full time, where in the world would I find time to exercise? What would I even do? Thinking back to my high school days, I thought of PE class and track. It had been 16 years since I had done either. SIXTEEN.
I had zero exercise equipment, but I think I had acceptable shoes somewhere in the house. I dug into my closet and found an old tattered pair of tennis shoes. This is a miracle in itself as there was no logical explanation as to why I even had the pair.
Set My Alarm Clock for WHAT TIME?
Since I work outside of our home, my family time is crucially important to me. I could not take time away from my young boys to exercise. My only option was getting up before anyone else was awake.
This is not natural. I love sleep.
Making the decision to run around our block once, and having no idea how long it would take me, I set the alarm for 15 minutes earlier than normal. I was now getting up at 6:00 am. THIS IS INSANE.
One Block, Two Block, Three Block, Four
My first run in 16 years was around the block; a distance of less than 3/4 a mile and it took me 10 minutes. I broke no speed records and had no fan fare. No one saw me and I was relieved. I had no idea what I was doing and I was not a real runner. I was only an overweight mom whose single goal being to keep off that blasted 5 pounds.
The next day I did it again. And again. And again.
A week later I decided to go a little bit further. And then a little bit further. The first day I ran an entire mile evoked strong feelings of accomplishment. Never before in my adult life had I been as proud of myself as I was in that moment.
Still, no one saw me running. Fear gripped me knowing if anyone saw me running, they would surely laugh at me as I was not a real runner. I didn't have real running clothes or real running shoes or even look like a real runner. My sweats were old, my shoes older and I was overweight.
A Look In The Mirror
At the track, as I passed this overweight woman who refused to look at me, my heart twinged in memory. It was as if I peeled back time and was looking at my former self. I wanted to hug her and tell her I - yes, I, a complete stranger - was incredibly proud of her. I wanted to tell her she was a real runner and to run tall and proud of all she was accomplishing. Showing up at the track screamed loudly of her inner strength and determination; guts I never had in my beginning.
More than anything I wanted her to know the hard work is worth it. The weight comes off. The mornings become your favorite quiet time of the day. The running brings tears of joy and tears of pain because it is the hardest thing you've physically ever done. Running helps you deal with the death of your mom. One day you'll realize how many years you wasted feeling bad because you had no idea how good the good feels.
Coming around the third bend of the track, she was in my sights again. I moved 3 lanes over to be in the lane next to her. Her eyes were intently staring at the ground directly in front of her; looking neither ahead, left or right. I came up next to her and quietly said, "You are doing great. Keep up the good work." My words startled her and she snapped her head in my direction. Before pulling away from her, I gave her a thumbs up.
There was no mistaking the look on her face. The corners of her mouth began to form the biggest of smiles.
Breathing hard due to the pace I was running, she could hear me coming near her. As I approached, she turned her head and body away from me. I knew what that meant, there was no mistaking it. She was hiding. She wasn't a real runner.
I know, because I use to be that girl.
The Gift Of Strep Throat
It was April 2003 and I had come down with a nasty sore throat. My husband suspected strep and urged me to go see the doctor. I had never experienced strep throat before but I knew it was contagious. My babies were 6 and 1½ years old and I didn't want them getting sick.
At the doctor's office, the nurse had me step onto the scale - the Dreaded Scale. It had been a year and a half since the baby was born and I couldn't shed the baby weight. I had made peace with my new mommy-size.
Hesitantly I stepped on the scale. I did a double take at the numbers before me. This can't be right. The Dreaded Scale had budged. I had lost 5 pounds. The strep throat had made it difficult to eat helping me lose 5 pounds in the process. The revelation the weight could come off gave me a grin so wide the nurse asked me if I was ok.
The big question I faced now became "What am I going to do to keep it off?". With two young boys and my husband and I both working full time, where in the world would I find time to exercise? What would I even do? Thinking back to my high school days, I thought of PE class and track. It had been 16 years since I had done either. SIXTEEN.
I had zero exercise equipment, but I think I had acceptable shoes somewhere in the house. I dug into my closet and found an old tattered pair of tennis shoes. This is a miracle in itself as there was no logical explanation as to why I even had the pair.
Set My Alarm Clock for WHAT TIME?
Since I work outside of our home, my family time is crucially important to me. I could not take time away from my young boys to exercise. My only option was getting up before anyone else was awake.
This is not natural. I love sleep.
Making the decision to run around our block once, and having no idea how long it would take me, I set the alarm for 15 minutes earlier than normal. I was now getting up at 6:00 am. THIS IS INSANE.
One Block, Two Block, Three Block, Four
My first run in 16 years was around the block; a distance of less than 3/4 a mile and it took me 10 minutes. I broke no speed records and had no fan fare. No one saw me and I was relieved. I had no idea what I was doing and I was not a real runner. I was only an overweight mom whose single goal being to keep off that blasted 5 pounds.
The next day I did it again. And again. And again.
A week later I decided to go a little bit further. And then a little bit further. The first day I ran an entire mile evoked strong feelings of accomplishment. Never before in my adult life had I been as proud of myself as I was in that moment.
Still, no one saw me running. Fear gripped me knowing if anyone saw me running, they would surely laugh at me as I was not a real runner. I didn't have real running clothes or real running shoes or even look like a real runner. My sweats were old, my shoes older and I was overweight.
A Look In The Mirror
At the track, as I passed this overweight woman who refused to look at me, my heart twinged in memory. It was as if I peeled back time and was looking at my former self. I wanted to hug her and tell her I - yes, I, a complete stranger - was incredibly proud of her. I wanted to tell her she was a real runner and to run tall and proud of all she was accomplishing. Showing up at the track screamed loudly of her inner strength and determination; guts I never had in my beginning.
More than anything I wanted her to know the hard work is worth it. The weight comes off. The mornings become your favorite quiet time of the day. The running brings tears of joy and tears of pain because it is the hardest thing you've physically ever done. Running helps you deal with the death of your mom. One day you'll realize how many years you wasted feeling bad because you had no idea how good the good feels.
Coming around the third bend of the track, she was in my sights again. I moved 3 lanes over to be in the lane next to her. Her eyes were intently staring at the ground directly in front of her; looking neither ahead, left or right. I came up next to her and quietly said, "You are doing great. Keep up the good work." My words startled her and she snapped her head in my direction. Before pulling away from her, I gave her a thumbs up.
There was no mistaking the look on her face. The corners of her mouth began to form the biggest of smiles.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Staring At the Wall
Surprisingly, the hallways held no smell. It had been years, decades really, since I had stepped inside a home designed to assist those who need care.
Growing up, we lived blocks away from the town's only nursing home. Often as a child as I rode my bike down that road I would see someone sitting by their window looking out at the world just beyond their reach. I would always wave; sometimes I park my bike, enter in and visit these strangers I knew through only a smile and a wave. Pulling that big door open the smell would be the first thing greeting me; smells of life and the dying. Today however, there was no smell.
Pale colored walls showed signs of wear and tear from those hanging onto their independence. Corners dinged from wheelchairs and black scuff marks marred the walls from a wheel of an errant push. A very well-fed cat curls up under a settee and sleeps.
A man watches me intently from his wheelchair perched outside his door. I smile. He does not; his only movement are his eyes as they watch me walk toward - and then away - from him. I scan the room number signs looking for Room 6125.
Sunlight streams in through a large glass window at the end of a short carpeted hallway. A wheelchair is turned to face the wall. Sitting in the wheelchair is a woman well into her twilight years. White curly hair replaces what I image the darkened color of her youth. Frailty seeps through her being. I am struck by the loneliness and sadness awash on her face.
Unaware I am near, she stares at the pictures of yesteryear tacked onto the wall. Do the pictures belong to her? Are these living memories of a time long ago? I can not tell. Nothing breaks her gaze upon those pictures.
Without ever knowing, she has touched my heart. Once she was a woman of strength, youth and vitality. She has seen a world war and endured the Great Depression. I wonder if she was an athlete as a young woman or if, like me, waited until well into her 30s to become one. Is her heart content or does she long for the day when her body could keep up with her?
Her gaze upon that wall haunts the vibrancy of my own life. I make the realization I have taken much for granted. At 45 I could be half her age; yet it's becoming clearer to me to be mid-life is my own choosing. Time may slowly take my youth, but life's enthusiasm is mine.
A beautiful woman looking upon pictures of years ago; snapshots of darker hair, wrinkle free skin, and standing tall. Chances are I won't see her again yet she is all I think of as I bend down and lace up my running shoes.
It's a good day to go for a run.
Growing up, we lived blocks away from the town's only nursing home. Often as a child as I rode my bike down that road I would see someone sitting by their window looking out at the world just beyond their reach. I would always wave; sometimes I park my bike, enter in and visit these strangers I knew through only a smile and a wave. Pulling that big door open the smell would be the first thing greeting me; smells of life and the dying. Today however, there was no smell.
Pale colored walls showed signs of wear and tear from those hanging onto their independence. Corners dinged from wheelchairs and black scuff marks marred the walls from a wheel of an errant push. A very well-fed cat curls up under a settee and sleeps.
A man watches me intently from his wheelchair perched outside his door. I smile. He does not; his only movement are his eyes as they watch me walk toward - and then away - from him. I scan the room number signs looking for Room 6125.
Sunlight streams in through a large glass window at the end of a short carpeted hallway. A wheelchair is turned to face the wall. Sitting in the wheelchair is a woman well into her twilight years. White curly hair replaces what I image the darkened color of her youth. Frailty seeps through her being. I am struck by the loneliness and sadness awash on her face.
Unaware I am near, she stares at the pictures of yesteryear tacked onto the wall. Do the pictures belong to her? Are these living memories of a time long ago? I can not tell. Nothing breaks her gaze upon those pictures.
Without ever knowing, she has touched my heart. Once she was a woman of strength, youth and vitality. She has seen a world war and endured the Great Depression. I wonder if she was an athlete as a young woman or if, like me, waited until well into her 30s to become one. Is her heart content or does she long for the day when her body could keep up with her?
Her gaze upon that wall haunts the vibrancy of my own life. I make the realization I have taken much for granted. At 45 I could be half her age; yet it's becoming clearer to me to be mid-life is my own choosing. Time may slowly take my youth, but life's enthusiasm is mine.
A beautiful woman looking upon pictures of years ago; snapshots of darker hair, wrinkle free skin, and standing tall. Chances are I won't see her again yet she is all I think of as I bend down and lace up my running shoes.
It's a good day to go for a run.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Awesome Pants
3:12 a.m. I roll over. Over the last 6 weeks I haven't slept much so there was no surprise when the clock told me what I already suspected. Still, I try and sleep.
At 4:00 I hear my oldest call to me from his room. 3 days away from being 17 and he has been sick in bed with the flu for 2 days. In the darkness I find my way to his bedside. He is hot to the touch. I refill his cup with cold water, get a wet washcloth for his forehead and measure out medicine. At 6'2" and knocking on the door of being a grown up, I relish the time I get to dote on him.
I crawl back into bed knowing the 5:00 a.m. alarm will ring in 30 minutes telling me it's time to go run. Every fiber of my being does not want to run. Winds are whipping outside my window and the gusts rattle the panes. A downpour begins so fierce it sounds like rocks bouncing off the skylight.
Ugh.
Right on cue, the alarm rings. The rains have stopped; the winds have not. I continue to lay there. I justify all the reasons why I don't have to run. Yet I know, one of the best things to prevent me swimming in my broken heart is to exercise. As hard as it is to get up in the dark of winter to run, not running is harder.
Getting dressed, I tip toe to the back door and open the slider. The wind is a steady 14 mph with gusts well into the 20s. The wind is from the south, bringing with it warmth in comparison to the 11° we had 4 days previous. The rain clouds had parted great enough to show me the full moon hidden behind them. Warm wind, full moon - these are unexpected surprises I would not have known had I stayed in bed.
Leaving the neighborhood I am faced with a head wind. I tuck my head down to help fight against it. Objects fly around me as I catch glimpses of them in the light cast by my headlamp. Clouds roll quickly across the sky and occasionally the full moon bursts through illuminating the road in front of me.
A mile passes by and my watch chirps. I glance at it and am surprised by the speedy pace I have kept despite the wind. Another mile and a faster pace still. I am grateful I didn't stay in bed. Mid-stride a gust tries to knock me over. I recover and giggle at the absurdity of it all. My neighbors drive by and I know they think I'm crazy. It doesn't matter, I feel good. I decide to tack on another mile to the end of my 5 mile run. My run complete and each mile faster than the previous one. A joy I wouldn't have known had I stayed in bed; a joy that comes only from pushing yourself.
I felt awesome.
Later, as I drove my youngest son to school, we talked of the strong winds blowing and my run earlier that morning. As I dropped him off and he jumped out of the car I told him, "Remember to wear your Awesome Pants today."
He smiled and said, "Mom. I always do." He then reached his hands in the air, began to dance and sang the line from a Lady Gaga song, "Cuz baby I was born that way."
He was still dancing his way into the school as I pulled away. Driving to work, I thought a lot about what he said. As hard as it's been lately and as unmotivated as I have been, God still made me awesome. He made me perfectly me.
The least I can do is put on my Awesome Pants every day.
At 4:00 I hear my oldest call to me from his room. 3 days away from being 17 and he has been sick in bed with the flu for 2 days. In the darkness I find my way to his bedside. He is hot to the touch. I refill his cup with cold water, get a wet washcloth for his forehead and measure out medicine. At 6'2" and knocking on the door of being a grown up, I relish the time I get to dote on him.
I crawl back into bed knowing the 5:00 a.m. alarm will ring in 30 minutes telling me it's time to go run. Every fiber of my being does not want to run. Winds are whipping outside my window and the gusts rattle the panes. A downpour begins so fierce it sounds like rocks bouncing off the skylight.
Ugh.
Right on cue, the alarm rings. The rains have stopped; the winds have not. I continue to lay there. I justify all the reasons why I don't have to run. Yet I know, one of the best things to prevent me swimming in my broken heart is to exercise. As hard as it is to get up in the dark of winter to run, not running is harder.
Getting dressed, I tip toe to the back door and open the slider. The wind is a steady 14 mph with gusts well into the 20s. The wind is from the south, bringing with it warmth in comparison to the 11° we had 4 days previous. The rain clouds had parted great enough to show me the full moon hidden behind them. Warm wind, full moon - these are unexpected surprises I would not have known had I stayed in bed.
Leaving the neighborhood I am faced with a head wind. I tuck my head down to help fight against it. Objects fly around me as I catch glimpses of them in the light cast by my headlamp. Clouds roll quickly across the sky and occasionally the full moon bursts through illuminating the road in front of me.
A mile passes by and my watch chirps. I glance at it and am surprised by the speedy pace I have kept despite the wind. Another mile and a faster pace still. I am grateful I didn't stay in bed. Mid-stride a gust tries to knock me over. I recover and giggle at the absurdity of it all. My neighbors drive by and I know they think I'm crazy. It doesn't matter, I feel good. I decide to tack on another mile to the end of my 5 mile run. My run complete and each mile faster than the previous one. A joy I wouldn't have known had I stayed in bed; a joy that comes only from pushing yourself.
I felt awesome.
Later, as I drove my youngest son to school, we talked of the strong winds blowing and my run earlier that morning. As I dropped him off and he jumped out of the car I told him, "Remember to wear your Awesome Pants today."
He smiled and said, "Mom. I always do." He then reached his hands in the air, began to dance and sang the line from a Lady Gaga song, "Cuz baby I was born that way."
He was still dancing his way into the school as I pulled away. Driving to work, I thought a lot about what he said. As hard as it's been lately and as unmotivated as I have been, God still made me awesome. He made me perfectly me.
The least I can do is put on my Awesome Pants every day.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Healed
The calendar reads Tuesday and it's my first run since Mom died. The dark winter morning hides me in it's quiet. There is no rain and I realize I have no idea what the weather has been like for the last 5 days.
The day after Christmas our bedside vigils began; a Thursday. The four of us children and my brother in law were there each day and rotating the nights. Dad never left her side. Aunt Mari and her daughter, our cousin, Vicki completed the circle around Mom.
My mind wanders in this pre-dawn darkness as I run the route I've run hundreds of times before. I reflect on Psalm 23.
Yea though I walk through the
valley of the shadow of death
I fear no evil for You are with me.
Mom walked in that valley for 6 months. In July after receiving the news the cancer had metastasized, she never once complained. With the shadow of death looming, she knew a shadow is not cast without Light; the darker the shadow the brighter the Light ahead.
And that valley was dark. For all of us.
Sunday afternoon we were finally able to reach Pastor Henry Numan. For 17 years he walked with my parents on their journeys through cancer. Somewhere in that walk he stopped being a pastor and became a friend. A friend Mom talked to often in her last months. She never left his conversations without feeling encouraged and given a dose of God's great comfort.
Henry called after receiving our messages and had cleared his calendar to be there first thing Monday morning. 15 minutes later he called back asking if he could come now. "Please", we responded. He made the 45 minute commute - through the Canadian border - quickly.
The last few days of Mom's life I had witnessed some very loving moments, ones that will stay with me forever. Watching Henry with Mom will be one of those forever moments. Despite Mom no longer being responsive, he leaned over her and quietly repeated her favorite Bible verses. He gave her words of comfort reminding her of the greatness of heaven that awaited her.
My Dad, brothers, sisters, aunt, cousin and I sat in a circle around her bed; where we had been for the last 40 hours. After talking to Mom, Henry sat down in the chair near the foot of her bed. He asked if we could pray. We bowed our heads where each of us were sitting, I on the floor at the foot of my Dad's chair.
As he said "Amen", we all saw Mom had become pale; only two earthly breaths remained. Sunday night, December 29 she walked out from the shadow of death and into the Light. Mom was Home.
Sometime later that evening, Pastor Numan and I had a few quiet moments together. I told him Matthew 18:20 had come to my mind, For where two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst of them.
"Pastor Numan, I can't help but reflect on while we prayed together, Jesus was here. He tells us this very clearly in Matthew. And as you said amen, I can only imagine Jesus looking at Mom and saying, 'Come on Kathy, you're coming with Me.' and He took her home." We smile through our tears at such the thought.
I turn into the neighborhood in which I live. My body exhausted from the last several emotional days, but renewed by running a few miles alone. A light goes on in my neighbor's kitchen, the light spilling out into the darkness outside. I wipe a tear from my eye. My run is almost over as I turn left onto my street and I head toward home; just like Mom.
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith; in the future there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing. 2 Timothy 4:7-8
The day after Christmas our bedside vigils began; a Thursday. The four of us children and my brother in law were there each day and rotating the nights. Dad never left her side. Aunt Mari and her daughter, our cousin, Vicki completed the circle around Mom.
My mind wanders in this pre-dawn darkness as I run the route I've run hundreds of times before. I reflect on Psalm 23.
Yea though I walk through the
valley of the shadow of death
I fear no evil for You are with me.
Mom walked in that valley for 6 months. In July after receiving the news the cancer had metastasized, she never once complained. With the shadow of death looming, she knew a shadow is not cast without Light; the darker the shadow the brighter the Light ahead.
And that valley was dark. For all of us.
Sunday afternoon we were finally able to reach Pastor Henry Numan. For 17 years he walked with my parents on their journeys through cancer. Somewhere in that walk he stopped being a pastor and became a friend. A friend Mom talked to often in her last months. She never left his conversations without feeling encouraged and given a dose of God's great comfort.
Henry called after receiving our messages and had cleared his calendar to be there first thing Monday morning. 15 minutes later he called back asking if he could come now. "Please", we responded. He made the 45 minute commute - through the Canadian border - quickly.
The last few days of Mom's life I had witnessed some very loving moments, ones that will stay with me forever. Watching Henry with Mom will be one of those forever moments. Despite Mom no longer being responsive, he leaned over her and quietly repeated her favorite Bible verses. He gave her words of comfort reminding her of the greatness of heaven that awaited her.
My Dad, brothers, sisters, aunt, cousin and I sat in a circle around her bed; where we had been for the last 40 hours. After talking to Mom, Henry sat down in the chair near the foot of her bed. He asked if we could pray. We bowed our heads where each of us were sitting, I on the floor at the foot of my Dad's chair.
As he said "Amen", we all saw Mom had become pale; only two earthly breaths remained. Sunday night, December 29 she walked out from the shadow of death and into the Light. Mom was Home.
Sometime later that evening, Pastor Numan and I had a few quiet moments together. I told him Matthew 18:20 had come to my mind, For where two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst of them.
"Pastor Numan, I can't help but reflect on while we prayed together, Jesus was here. He tells us this very clearly in Matthew. And as you said amen, I can only imagine Jesus looking at Mom and saying, 'Come on Kathy, you're coming with Me.' and He took her home." We smile through our tears at such the thought.
I turn into the neighborhood in which I live. My body exhausted from the last several emotional days, but renewed by running a few miles alone. A light goes on in my neighbor's kitchen, the light spilling out into the darkness outside. I wipe a tear from my eye. My run is almost over as I turn left onto my street and I head toward home; just like Mom.
 |
| Katherine Miedema September 6, 1942 - December 29, 2013 |
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith; in the future there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing. 2 Timothy 4:7-8
Saturday, November 16, 2013
A Different Kind of Marathon
Years ago when I started this blog I did so to write about my experiences while running and to give you a glimpse of what it's like to run in my shoes.
Today I share with you a different kind of race.
A marathon of 15 years run by a woman I am blessed to call Mom.
She is in the final miles of her race and is beginning to feel that rush we all feel as we approach the finish line.
A feeling of accomplishment with her hands raised in victory.
She continues to run toward her prize.
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith; in the future there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing. 2 Timothy 4:7-8
******************************
It was a hot Friday morning in mid-July. The chair she was sitting on just went cold. She stared at the nurse crying before her and not certain on what to say. This was not the reaction she had expected. The laughter she and her sister were just enjoying now silent. She glances at her sister; then back to the nurse.
Last week's CT scan told them why the stomach pains had gotten severe. The cancer had metastasized to her liver. She knew what that meant. After 15 years of sitting in the Chemo Chair she had lost enough friends to know what lay ahead.
So this is what it came to.
August, September and October were filled with the harshest of chemo therapies. None of which were working. Just when she started feeling better, another round in the Chemo Chair would make her sick and brought no improvement against the cancer she fought.
A rainy Tuesday in November she phoned the doctor's office. She told the nurse she wanted to meet with the doctor before the Chemo Chair; her decision made.
The doctor told her what any good doctor would tell her - the truth. She knew her options, after 15 years one knows. Today she was choosing quality over quantity. She rises out of the chair and tells the doctor goodbye.
The nurses - her friends - shed tears. After 15 years they have shared a lot in each other's lives. Oh she'll stop in to see them, but it will be different.
She turns to walk out the door. She walks away from 15 years of doctors and nurses and surgeries and needles and the Chemo Chair and the healing poison that ran through her body. The door opens and she steps into a different life, a shorter life - yet one she is still grateful to live.
Although her days are fewer in front of her than lay behind her she knows God has only given each of us this day. God has comforted her, held her and blessed her in ways she would never have known if cancer hadn't been in her life. And in that she finds much joy. Despite the hurt and sadness and fear, God has given her much joy.
With dignity she walks through that door. With gratitude to God she embraces the life now before her. A life always worth living.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
No More School, No More Books
It's hot and the sun is bright as I step onto the black oval of a local high school track. My friends and I meet every Monday to push ourselves with speed or tempo runs. Meeting earlier than I could make, they had already begun their workout. I step onto an outside lane and begin my easy paced warm up mile; alone. The quiet is what I need.
The last day of school is normally a day of celebration in our household, yet today I found myself deep in melancholy. Selfishly I could not wait for this day - no more packing lunches, no more homework, no more grade checks. I was done with conversations centered around school work. The day was finally here. YES!
What I was not ready for was the feeling of sadness at the bus stop earlier that morning. My youngest hops on the bus to embark on his last day of elementary school; after today he would be walking the halls of middle school. The bus driver, Mary Anne, shuts the door and turns to wave at me ~ just as she has done every day for the past 11 years once each of my boys had boarded the bus. As she pulls away and I start my car to leave for work, it dawns on me : this is my last day of elementary school. My days at the bus stop are over.
I wasn't ready to close that chapter.
My feet are carrying me around the track and helping me let go of the emotions of the day. To hold tight to those feelings would not change the reality of that part of my life being over; no, this was a chance to embrace something new, something scary and I will be just fine. But it doesn't mean I'm not staring this opportunity in the face without sadness in this mama's heart.
My friends, Kathy and Karen, are on a cool down lap and turn around to meet me as I finish my warm up. The next couple mile repeats we run together. Kathy just watched her youngest son graduate from high school two days previous and understands every single emotion. The three of us talk and more importantly, we laugh.
As they started before me, I am off to run the final mile repeat on my own. The sun is hot. The black track reflecting the heat suddenly gives me incredible amounts of empathy for how bacon feels in a frying pan. Despite it all, I nail the pace of my final mile. I feel good. I feel better than I had all day.
The workout is over and we head back to our cars. We gather in the parking lot and the conversation gets long. There is no homework to go home to, there is no rushing home to pack lunches, there is only me with my running friends talking about whatever it is we want to talk about.
And I am enjoying every single minute of it.
The last day of school is normally a day of celebration in our household, yet today I found myself deep in melancholy. Selfishly I could not wait for this day - no more packing lunches, no more homework, no more grade checks. I was done with conversations centered around school work. The day was finally here. YES!
What I was not ready for was the feeling of sadness at the bus stop earlier that morning. My youngest hops on the bus to embark on his last day of elementary school; after today he would be walking the halls of middle school. The bus driver, Mary Anne, shuts the door and turns to wave at me ~ just as she has done every day for the past 11 years once each of my boys had boarded the bus. As she pulls away and I start my car to leave for work, it dawns on me : this is my last day of elementary school. My days at the bus stop are over.
I wasn't ready to close that chapter.
My feet are carrying me around the track and helping me let go of the emotions of the day. To hold tight to those feelings would not change the reality of that part of my life being over; no, this was a chance to embrace something new, something scary and I will be just fine. But it doesn't mean I'm not staring this opportunity in the face without sadness in this mama's heart.
My friends, Kathy and Karen, are on a cool down lap and turn around to meet me as I finish my warm up. The next couple mile repeats we run together. Kathy just watched her youngest son graduate from high school two days previous and understands every single emotion. The three of us talk and more importantly, we laugh.
As they started before me, I am off to run the final mile repeat on my own. The sun is hot. The black track reflecting the heat suddenly gives me incredible amounts of empathy for how bacon feels in a frying pan. Despite it all, I nail the pace of my final mile. I feel good. I feel better than I had all day.
The workout is over and we head back to our cars. We gather in the parking lot and the conversation gets long. There is no homework to go home to, there is no rushing home to pack lunches, there is only me with my running friends talking about whatever it is we want to talk about.
And I am enjoying every single minute of it.
Friday, March 15, 2013
A Much Needed Answer
To say I've been struggling with my running over the last year is to understate my battle. Although I've tried to keep my struggle private, it often flowed out into my words as I told of my races; most notably the Wintrhop, Bellingham Bay and the California International marathons.
Any runner can attest to having a bad run or a bad race day; I was experiencing a bad race year. The head games birthed from so many consistent bad races left me feeling more than overwhelmed. I spent many quiet moments debating on giving up racing, especially marathons. My friends are the ones who would push me when I couldn't.
About 6 weeks ago a group of us met for an easy 8 mile run; it was 8 miles on a simple route at a conversational pace. I couldn't keep up. I was walking at mile 6. Mile 6. I felt as if I had no skeleton and was running on empty despite a solid week's sleep and eating right. Once I got home the only thing I wanted to do was sleep. For 3 days.
This is when I knew something was wrong.
Not one to run to the doctor for a sniffle or an ache or a pain, my doctor knew something was amiss simply because I was sitting in her office. She asked a multitude of questions, poked and proded. We sent my blood sample away to the lab and awaited results.
The answer didn't take long to receive. I am anemic. Never have I been happier to hear there is something wrong with me. This diagnosis validated my struggle. It wasn't that my mind wasn't tough enough, or I wasn't determined enough, or I wasn't good enough. My body could not physically do what I was asking it to do. Iron deficiency stole my ability.
I stand now in the middle of hope and promise. There are millions of people who live with this every day and I know I am not alone. But right now it has given me an answer, a much needed answer, to questions I faced for too long.
A new marathon season lies ahead and now, finally, I am excited to see what it holds.
Any runner can attest to having a bad run or a bad race day; I was experiencing a bad race year. The head games birthed from so many consistent bad races left me feeling more than overwhelmed. I spent many quiet moments debating on giving up racing, especially marathons. My friends are the ones who would push me when I couldn't.
About 6 weeks ago a group of us met for an easy 8 mile run; it was 8 miles on a simple route at a conversational pace. I couldn't keep up. I was walking at mile 6. Mile 6. I felt as if I had no skeleton and was running on empty despite a solid week's sleep and eating right. Once I got home the only thing I wanted to do was sleep. For 3 days.
This is when I knew something was wrong.
Not one to run to the doctor for a sniffle or an ache or a pain, my doctor knew something was amiss simply because I was sitting in her office. She asked a multitude of questions, poked and proded. We sent my blood sample away to the lab and awaited results.
The answer didn't take long to receive. I am anemic. Never have I been happier to hear there is something wrong with me. This diagnosis validated my struggle. It wasn't that my mind wasn't tough enough, or I wasn't determined enough, or I wasn't good enough. My body could not physically do what I was asking it to do. Iron deficiency stole my ability.
I stand now in the middle of hope and promise. There are millions of people who live with this every day and I know I am not alone. But right now it has given me an answer, a much needed answer, to questions I faced for too long.
A new marathon season lies ahead and now, finally, I am excited to see what it holds.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Blessings Aware
The chill in the air held no rain or snow. My parked car would keep me warm while I waited. Still battling my hamstring, I have just begun to ease back into running since completing the California International Marathon a few weeks prior. My friends were out doing a 4 mile loop and I would join them on the second 4 mile loop; my longest distance since returning.
The clock on my dashboard tells me I have about 10 minutes to wait. Looking around I see downtown bustling with the Christmas holiday. On the street corner a towering evergreen twinkled from top to bottom with sparkling white lights. Street vendors, bundled against the weather, were setting up their stands in preparation of the Farmer's Market opening soon. People everywhere were smiling.
Making their way down the street were two men which I guess to be 30 years apart. The clothes they wore told me they called the streets their home. The homeless shelter was a mile away and I sensed they had just left there. They share conversation as they walk toward the woods.
"Whadya find?" the younger one asks.
The older gentlemen is bending down in a parking space two over from mine picking something up off the concrete ground.
"Two pennies!" he exclaims, placing them in his pocket.
"SWEET!" the younger states with excitement; excitement I do not think I've ever seen over two cents.
My eyes look down to my $200 running watch, I zip up my $125 running jacket and I feel a twinge of shame. I sit in my warm car wearing hundreds of dollars of gear I use only when I run and those two men were excited over two cents. The contrast is stark.
Stephanie pulls her car up next to mine and we wait for our friends to come. Right on time, they make their way up the road and we head toward the trail for a 4 mile run. The Christmas excitement is felt and like a big Italian family gathering, we all talk and listen to each other at the same time. I am beyond thrilled to be running with my friends again.
The trail takes us from downtown to the ocean. Below the trail is an area the homeless frequent. I don't see the two men. A tree alongside the trail has been decorated with a collage of ornaments all left by a random person wanting to leave a bit of the Christmas spirit behind.
We run and discuss Christmas plans, Christmas gifts and the tasks still left to be done. Everyone was busy, yet we took the time to come together. The people running alongside me are one of my greatest gifts. The run comes to an end and each returns to their car. We toss aside gloves and grab wallets. The coffee house awaits us. In one last pre-Christmas run we give each other the gift of our time. We will sit and laugh and tell stories.
The bell on the door jingles as we push the door open. Our favorite barista is behind the counter; she smiles and waves.
My blessings are many, this I am made very aware.
Making their way down the street were two men which I guess to be 30 years apart. The clothes they wore told me they called the streets their home. The homeless shelter was a mile away and I sensed they had just left there. They share conversation as they walk toward the woods.
"Whadya find?" the younger one asks.
The older gentlemen is bending down in a parking space two over from mine picking something up off the concrete ground.
"Two pennies!" he exclaims, placing them in his pocket.
"SWEET!" the younger states with excitement; excitement I do not think I've ever seen over two cents.
My eyes look down to my $200 running watch, I zip up my $125 running jacket and I feel a twinge of shame. I sit in my warm car wearing hundreds of dollars of gear I use only when I run and those two men were excited over two cents. The contrast is stark.
Stephanie pulls her car up next to mine and we wait for our friends to come. Right on time, they make their way up the road and we head toward the trail for a 4 mile run. The Christmas excitement is felt and like a big Italian family gathering, we all talk and listen to each other at the same time. I am beyond thrilled to be running with my friends again.
The trail takes us from downtown to the ocean. Below the trail is an area the homeless frequent. I don't see the two men. A tree alongside the trail has been decorated with a collage of ornaments all left by a random person wanting to leave a bit of the Christmas spirit behind.
We run and discuss Christmas plans, Christmas gifts and the tasks still left to be done. Everyone was busy, yet we took the time to come together. The people running alongside me are one of my greatest gifts. The run comes to an end and each returns to their car. We toss aside gloves and grab wallets. The coffee house awaits us. In one last pre-Christmas run we give each other the gift of our time. We will sit and laugh and tell stories.
The bell on the door jingles as we push the door open. Our favorite barista is behind the counter; she smiles and waves.
My blessings are many, this I am made very aware.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Striving Forward
A few stolen moments of quiet and I contemplate the last year of racing. Putting this year behind me, I look forward to the promise of a new year just a few days away.
This past year has been a difficult running year for me. Starting the year with a horrible ankle sprain, having my first A-game marathon crumble in the heat of summer sun, then my second fall to leg cramps and finally my last of the year consist of torrential rains, urban flooding, winds and hamstring issues - all of them contributing to the toughest racing year I've faced. In open honesty, my mental fortitude is thread bare strong.
Not all of 2012 was disappointing. I set a new PR in my 5k time by dropping 1 minute 18 seconds off my previous best; proving at 43 years old one can still get faster. My time was a 22:58 and it snagged me 4th (out of 53) in my age group. Trying something new that race, I refused to look at my watch and ran strictly on how I felt. Needless to say I was shocked to see how well it worked for me.
July holds the annual Chuckanut Foot Race and my favorite of all local races. A tough 7 mile trail race which climbs uphill for roughly 6 miles and finishes with a nice downhill (read : speedy) last mile. Always aiming to do this race in under an hour, I had only done it once before. Once again I didn't look at my watch and let my body dictate my speed. It worked. I succeeded in a new PR with a time of 59:18, beating my previous best by 22 seconds.
These are the nuggets I hold onto as I lay this year down and head into 2013. The last 18 days I've spent healing my hamstring and salving my heartbreak over goals not met. I've done a lot of quiet reflection; a lot of soul searching.
As one to always have a plan - a goal to work towards - my calendar holds only two races next year. The Tacoma City Marathon in May boasts the 10 year Marathon Maniac Anniversary. With so many fellow Maniacs around it will be the fun I need to energize my running again.
The second race I hope to run will be the Chicago Marathon. This will be my first world major marathon and I look forward to the entire experience as well as spending time with my running friends.
Any marathoner will tell you the lessons learned with every race are invaluable. 26.2 miles is never easy but always worth it. Even when the run, the race, the year does not turn out like you hoped for or trained for, you still lace up your shoes and run. You run to forget and you run to remember.
Right now I lace up my shoes to remember why I love this sport and that I am a much stronger runner, a much stronger woman, than I was before I ran my first step. The difficulties and the hearbreak of this year will become the stepping blocks I build upon for next year.
2013, I'm ready.
This past year has been a difficult running year for me. Starting the year with a horrible ankle sprain, having my first A-game marathon crumble in the heat of summer sun, then my second fall to leg cramps and finally my last of the year consist of torrential rains, urban flooding, winds and hamstring issues - all of them contributing to the toughest racing year I've faced. In open honesty, my mental fortitude is thread bare strong.
Not all of 2012 was disappointing. I set a new PR in my 5k time by dropping 1 minute 18 seconds off my previous best; proving at 43 years old one can still get faster. My time was a 22:58 and it snagged me 4th (out of 53) in my age group. Trying something new that race, I refused to look at my watch and ran strictly on how I felt. Needless to say I was shocked to see how well it worked for me.
July holds the annual Chuckanut Foot Race and my favorite of all local races. A tough 7 mile trail race which climbs uphill for roughly 6 miles and finishes with a nice downhill (read : speedy) last mile. Always aiming to do this race in under an hour, I had only done it once before. Once again I didn't look at my watch and let my body dictate my speed. It worked. I succeeded in a new PR with a time of 59:18, beating my previous best by 22 seconds.
These are the nuggets I hold onto as I lay this year down and head into 2013. The last 18 days I've spent healing my hamstring and salving my heartbreak over goals not met. I've done a lot of quiet reflection; a lot of soul searching.
As one to always have a plan - a goal to work towards - my calendar holds only two races next year. The Tacoma City Marathon in May boasts the 10 year Marathon Maniac Anniversary. With so many fellow Maniacs around it will be the fun I need to energize my running again.
The second race I hope to run will be the Chicago Marathon. This will be my first world major marathon and I look forward to the entire experience as well as spending time with my running friends.
Any marathoner will tell you the lessons learned with every race are invaluable. 26.2 miles is never easy but always worth it. Even when the run, the race, the year does not turn out like you hoped for or trained for, you still lace up your shoes and run. You run to forget and you run to remember.
Right now I lace up my shoes to remember why I love this sport and that I am a much stronger runner, a much stronger woman, than I was before I ran my first step. The difficulties and the hearbreak of this year will become the stepping blocks I build upon for next year.
2013, I'm ready.
Friday, October 19, 2012
The Gift of Friendship
Three years ago I joined a running group in hopes to improve my marathon running. I stood in a group of 15 runners not knowing a single one. It was scary and it was intimidating; yet I really wanted to improve.
Now, three years later I look back on that day and marvel at how a single thing - running - has brought me into a fold of incredible friendships. One of those friends suffered a loss today. It is through tear brimmed eyes that I type this; my heart breaks for my friend.
In the past three years, I have shared thousands of miles with this group of people. While we are out there pushing ourselves in the miles we run, we share.
We share in our struggles, we share in our celebrations.
We share in our triumphs, we share in our heartbreaks.
We share our goals, we share our encouragement.
And sometimes we share in our tears.
Tomorrow is Saturday and like most Saturday mornings over the last three years we will meet to run together. We will run and share in my friend's sadness. Will it erase the pain? No. But as we run together and share the miles we will hopefully lighten her burden.
We will lace up our shoes and heal. Together.
Now, three years later I look back on that day and marvel at how a single thing - running - has brought me into a fold of incredible friendships. One of those friends suffered a loss today. It is through tear brimmed eyes that I type this; my heart breaks for my friend.
In the past three years, I have shared thousands of miles with this group of people. While we are out there pushing ourselves in the miles we run, we share.
We share in our struggles, we share in our celebrations.
We share in our triumphs, we share in our heartbreaks.
We share our goals, we share our encouragement.
And sometimes we share in our tears.
Tomorrow is Saturday and like most Saturday mornings over the last three years we will meet to run together. We will run and share in my friend's sadness. Will it erase the pain? No. But as we run together and share the miles we will hopefully lighten her burden.
We will lace up our shoes and heal. Together.
Friday, September 21, 2012
The Taper : An Itch One Can't Scratch
Last week I entered into The Taper; the time in marathon training where the last long run has taken place and the mileage decreases before race day. The hardest work is done, the endurance ability is created and the body is given permission to actively recover through less miles all in hopes to hit race day with a body well rested and ready to go.
Marathoners love to hate The Taper. You think we would kick back and enjoy taking it easy; we don't. Here are just a few reasons why.
Life is Just a Fantasy
Week after week as the miles build, the daydreaming begins. During the last 22 miler before the marathon, you run and fantasize about all the free time you will have by not running so many miles each week. The Taper and it's lower mileage look tall-stack-of-pancakes-smothered-in-syrup good; but it's not. As soon as you cut the body a break, your brain takes over and you are acutely aware of every single twinge or ache or muscle or broken leg. Panic sets in and you wonder if you are suddenly injured and question if you will make it to the starting line.
You realize the unicorns and glitter fantasy of The Taper has been stomped on by a T-Rex in full speed pursuit of it's dinner. Which leads me to...
I Want a New Drug
Your brain is a magnificent organ which easily and happily facilitates your running addiction. With The Taper in full swing the brain is no longer playing 9 year old boss of the playground with your legs. The brain does not know how to handle this and looks around the body to find something else to pick on. Without fail, the brain lasers in on the stomach and you are not thinking of marathon training anymore, you are thinking of milkshakes, french fries and pizza. And somehow you convince yourself this is completely acceptable forms of carbo loading.
There are many different training plans each with their own thoughts and ideas on how much to run in The Taper. Yet all agree, The Taper is a necessary evil component to training. The guys in white lab coats have proven resting does more good for the body than training hard up until race day. Since they have lots of capitalized abbreviations behind their names, and shiny pocket protectors, I tend to listen to them. Obeying them? Well, um, that's not so easy.
And The Walls Come Tumblin' Down
Once The Taper has started, nothing no longer stands between you and the marathon. Waves of fear and anxiety become bedfellows with your nerves. Before that last long run every run was a training run for an upcoming marathon; a marathon which was weeks or months away. The Taper knocks down the wall you hid behind and shoves you right smack into reality. The training is over, the marathon is almost here, and you are ready - no matter what taunts The Taper whispers in your ear.
Here I Go Again
With several marathons under my belt, one would think The Taper would be easy. It isn't; and in honesty I would not want it to be. My nerves doing the tango prove the marathon still matters to me. The distance is hard, and it hurts, and it makes me learn things about myself. I can't see the starting line without experiencing The Taper. I can't see the finish line without crossing the starting line.
And the finish line is worth it. Oh, is it worth it.
Friday, August 10, 2012
How Much Can You Bench Press?
How much can YOU bench press? (Does the question beg of a tone in which you can hear the antagonizing sneer? Good.)
I don't belong to a gym or have a personal trainer. I run. What I do have is a 15 year old son with a weight set. This is great for him as it keeps him interested in exercise and away from video games, well at least make it so he isn't always playing video games.
Earlier this year I sprained my ankle and started going crazy without my daily run. Craziness makes one go insane. It's true. I googled it. In my insanity I asked my 15 year old son to show me some exercises to do on the weight set. He relished the moment of son-teaching-mom and showed me some exercises to do.
They weren't my favorite, but I did them. They didn't take much time and it made me feel like I was at least doing something which was far better than doing nothing. It wasn't but a couple weeks (and to my complete surprise) I began to see definition. One could actually see my arms had muscles and weren't just appendages hanging from my shoulders.
I am still trying to find out where my abs are hidden.
Running is my exercise of choice and after slaying the Ankle Dictator I resumed my 30 to 40 mile weeks. Every once in awhile I walk by the weight set and still pump out some of the lifts he showed me. Today I realized how glad I am my son taught me what he did.
Having nothing particular to do on my lunch today, I filled my car up with gas and took a few minutes out of my day to stop by the house and surprise the boys. I walked through the garage (past the weight set) and through the back door. My oldest was sitting on the sofa watching something extremely educational on tv (I'm certain).
"What are you doing here?"
"Just stopping by to get a hug from you, can I have one?"
He smiled (!) and stood up from the couch. All 6'1" of him bent down to give me one of his big bear hugs. When the kids were little I did not think anything could trump a hug in which you feel tiny little fingers wrapped around your neck. Now I know big boy hugs are just as special.
He breaks away and smiles before sitting back down.
"Where is your brother?"
"At the neighbor's."
Once out the sliding glass door, I call for my youngest.
"Mom?!?!?"
"Yep, it's me! Can I get a hug?"
"MOM!!!!" The lilt in his voice betrayed his excitement. Leaving his friends behind he came running through the back yard. I stood in the lawn waiting for him.
Without warning, my 5'1", 95 lb, ten year old linebacker of a son leapt up in the air and into my arms. I caught him while standing my ground. He wrapped his legs around my waist and gave me a body hug.
"What are you doing here Mom?"
"Stopping by to get a hug from you and your brother."
He lets go, smiles a big smile and says, "Ok, I'm going to go play now." And off he went.
Driving back to work, I thanked God for my health and the strength I had to catch my leaping son. I thanked Him for big boy hugs and the blessing of being a mother.
So I ask you, how much can you bench press? You don't need a gym membership or even a weight bench. Pick up a 2 pound sack of potatoes for $3 on your next trip to the grocery store and lift the bag ten times with each arm. Arm curl a 32 ounce water bottle (that's 2 lbs!). The possibilities are endless when using simple, every day items.
People often ask me why I run; more often they tell me I'm crazy. Truth be told, there are lots of reasons why I run. However, there is just one answer on the top of my list, and it is this - I feel better about life more now than I ever did before I got up and moved my overweight tush off the couch. Being healthy and active brings a certain color to the world, a color you didn't know was missing. Once you see The Color, you want everyone to see it. That's when they start to call you crazy. But it's ok. You can see The Color and you know one day they will too if you lead by example. Especially your children.
Get up and move. I don't care if you walk, ride bike, swim, or chase squirrels in the back yard. Doing one small thing a day is a stepping stone to seeing The Color. And I promise you, you will see it.
Afterall, if life throws you a 5'1", 95 lb 10 year old little boy, don't you want to be able to catch him?
Believe in yourself.
I don't belong to a gym or have a personal trainer. I run. What I do have is a 15 year old son with a weight set. This is great for him as it keeps him interested in exercise and away from video games, well at least make it so he isn't always playing video games.
Earlier this year I sprained my ankle and started going crazy without my daily run. Craziness makes one go insane. It's true. I googled it. In my insanity I asked my 15 year old son to show me some exercises to do on the weight set. He relished the moment of son-teaching-mom and showed me some exercises to do.
They weren't my favorite, but I did them. They didn't take much time and it made me feel like I was at least doing something which was far better than doing nothing. It wasn't but a couple weeks (and to my complete surprise) I began to see definition. One could actually see my arms had muscles and weren't just appendages hanging from my shoulders.
I am still trying to find out where my abs are hidden.
Running is my exercise of choice and after slaying the Ankle Dictator I resumed my 30 to 40 mile weeks. Every once in awhile I walk by the weight set and still pump out some of the lifts he showed me. Today I realized how glad I am my son taught me what he did.
Having nothing particular to do on my lunch today, I filled my car up with gas and took a few minutes out of my day to stop by the house and surprise the boys. I walked through the garage (past the weight set) and through the back door. My oldest was sitting on the sofa watching something extremely educational on tv (I'm certain).
"What are you doing here?"
"Just stopping by to get a hug from you, can I have one?"
He smiled (!) and stood up from the couch. All 6'1" of him bent down to give me one of his big bear hugs. When the kids were little I did not think anything could trump a hug in which you feel tiny little fingers wrapped around your neck. Now I know big boy hugs are just as special.
He breaks away and smiles before sitting back down.
"Where is your brother?"
"At the neighbor's."
Once out the sliding glass door, I call for my youngest.
"Mom?!?!?"
"Yep, it's me! Can I get a hug?"
"MOM!!!!" The lilt in his voice betrayed his excitement. Leaving his friends behind he came running through the back yard. I stood in the lawn waiting for him.
Without warning, my 5'1", 95 lb, ten year old linebacker of a son leapt up in the air and into my arms. I caught him while standing my ground. He wrapped his legs around my waist and gave me a body hug.
"What are you doing here Mom?"
"Stopping by to get a hug from you and your brother."
He lets go, smiles a big smile and says, "Ok, I'm going to go play now." And off he went.
Driving back to work, I thanked God for my health and the strength I had to catch my leaping son. I thanked Him for big boy hugs and the blessing of being a mother.
So I ask you, how much can you bench press? You don't need a gym membership or even a weight bench. Pick up a 2 pound sack of potatoes for $3 on your next trip to the grocery store and lift the bag ten times with each arm. Arm curl a 32 ounce water bottle (that's 2 lbs!). The possibilities are endless when using simple, every day items.
People often ask me why I run; more often they tell me I'm crazy. Truth be told, there are lots of reasons why I run. However, there is just one answer on the top of my list, and it is this - I feel better about life more now than I ever did before I got up and moved my overweight tush off the couch. Being healthy and active brings a certain color to the world, a color you didn't know was missing. Once you see The Color, you want everyone to see it. That's when they start to call you crazy. But it's ok. You can see The Color and you know one day they will too if you lead by example. Especially your children.
Get up and move. I don't care if you walk, ride bike, swim, or chase squirrels in the back yard. Doing one small thing a day is a stepping stone to seeing The Color. And I promise you, you will see it.
Afterall, if life throws you a 5'1", 95 lb 10 year old little boy, don't you want to be able to catch him?
Believe in yourself.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
6 Months To Live
The morning, crazy; my patience, shortened. Since opening the office door the phone had not stopped ringing. A Monday morning in which one longs for the weekend just passed.
My phone rings, I answer it and a man on the other end is asking me for directions to our office. I relay the simple instructions and find myself annoyed as he repeats every single word. My impatient self wonders if his Google Maps is broken.
A short time later he walks in the office. He hands me a set of blueprints. I take them from him, scan them into our system and hand them back to him. About to send him on his way, he sits down in the chair across from my desk. I glance at the lunch sitting on my desk knowing it will now have to wait.
The man leans back into the chair and tells me about the difficulty of his customer who is building the project from the blueprints I just scanned.
"Every day is a gift you know. It's just that some gifts are better than others," he says with a smile.
Laughing, I answer him, "One never knows what God has planned for us each day."
Immediately I am convicted. God had given me this day and I was thanking Him with a short temper, little patience and with anything but a servant's heart. Hadn't Pastor Dave just encouraged us to be a servant in the weekend's message? Where was my servant's heart?
"When I have difficult customers like this I wonder why I don't retire." He shakes his head and rubs his left brow. "But I know the Lord's not done with me yet."
I smile and reply, "When I have difficult days, I ask Jesus if now would be a good time for Him to come back." We both laugh.
The laughter fades from his eyes and he says, "May I share a poem with you?"
Taken aback as I had not expected this, I nod giving him permission.
He softly speaks the verse of a child asking his father to mend a broken toy. The father carefully, slowly and diligently works on the brokenness. The child grows impatient; snatching the toy from the father's hands. When the child questions the father as to why it took him so long to fix his toy, the father lovingly replies, "My child you never truly let it go."
With intent focus the man looks me in the eye, "I feel strongly compelled to share that poem with you. I do not know what is broken in your life, but lay it at the feet of Jesus and let Him fix it for you."
Words escape me as I hold his gaze. That very morning I asked God to reveal to me any hindrances I have in my faith. What is broken that God is working on mending in my life? I am shaken as I feel God is talking to me directly through this man.
He leans forward in the chair, "I was given 6 months to a year to live."
He pauses. In that brief moment of pause I am stunned. Had I not but a few minutes ago been annoyed at his interruption of my busy morning? His words humble me and I feel ashamed.
He draws a breath and finishes, "That was 16 years ago. Every day is a gift."
In silence I sit as he tells me of his fight. He tells of his treatment and the toll it took. He speaks of God's faithfulness. Emotion rolls down his cheek as he recalls marrying his wife 8 weeks after his diagnosis.
Dropping her off on her doorstep after a date in town, he kissed her goodnight. It had been 2 weeks since hearing the doctor's prognosis and his entire future seems uncertain. He pulls away from her and begins to walk away.
"Damn you Terry." He stops cold; never before had he heard such language come from her mouth. He turns to face her, unable to hide the shock he feels.
"Do you not realize I would rather spend 6 months as your wife, than a lifetime as your friend?" He bent down on his knee and proposed that very moment. They were married 6 weeks later.
He pauses to gain composure. Terry smiles and says, "She has been my wife and my friend for 16 years now. What blessings God does give."
The office door opens as two men walk in. Terry stands to leave. "Well I should get going now."
I stand; Terry turns back to face me. "Every day I start my day with devotions and when I pray I ask God to make me a blessing to someone." Tears flow, he does not wipe them away. "Today, you have been a blessing to me. Thank you."
Walking around my desk, I give Terry a hug. "No Terry, today you were a blessing to me." He walks out the door.
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I sit at my desk in silence as I watch him drive away. There are words that move you and there are words that can stir your very soul. My soul stirs within me making me aware it is God who spoke today.
I approach the throne with fear and trembling steeped in tremendous peace. I am sitting in a seat of uneasiness as it is a seat of correction. What is God trying to tell me? Of this I am uncertain, yet I know it is loving. Most certainly I am convinced that God spoke to me today and He did so through a man named Terry.
My phone rings, I answer it and a man on the other end is asking me for directions to our office. I relay the simple instructions and find myself annoyed as he repeats every single word. My impatient self wonders if his Google Maps is broken.
A short time later he walks in the office. He hands me a set of blueprints. I take them from him, scan them into our system and hand them back to him. About to send him on his way, he sits down in the chair across from my desk. I glance at the lunch sitting on my desk knowing it will now have to wait.
The man leans back into the chair and tells me about the difficulty of his customer who is building the project from the blueprints I just scanned.
"Every day is a gift you know. It's just that some gifts are better than others," he says with a smile.
Laughing, I answer him, "One never knows what God has planned for us each day."
Immediately I am convicted. God had given me this day and I was thanking Him with a short temper, little patience and with anything but a servant's heart. Hadn't Pastor Dave just encouraged us to be a servant in the weekend's message? Where was my servant's heart?
"When I have difficult customers like this I wonder why I don't retire." He shakes his head and rubs his left brow. "But I know the Lord's not done with me yet."
I smile and reply, "When I have difficult days, I ask Jesus if now would be a good time for Him to come back." We both laugh.
The laughter fades from his eyes and he says, "May I share a poem with you?"
Taken aback as I had not expected this, I nod giving him permission.
He softly speaks the verse of a child asking his father to mend a broken toy. The father carefully, slowly and diligently works on the brokenness. The child grows impatient; snatching the toy from the father's hands. When the child questions the father as to why it took him so long to fix his toy, the father lovingly replies, "My child you never truly let it go."
With intent focus the man looks me in the eye, "I feel strongly compelled to share that poem with you. I do not know what is broken in your life, but lay it at the feet of Jesus and let Him fix it for you."
Words escape me as I hold his gaze. That very morning I asked God to reveal to me any hindrances I have in my faith. What is broken that God is working on mending in my life? I am shaken as I feel God is talking to me directly through this man.
He leans forward in the chair, "I was given 6 months to a year to live."
He pauses. In that brief moment of pause I am stunned. Had I not but a few minutes ago been annoyed at his interruption of my busy morning? His words humble me and I feel ashamed.
He draws a breath and finishes, "That was 16 years ago. Every day is a gift."
In silence I sit as he tells me of his fight. He tells of his treatment and the toll it took. He speaks of God's faithfulness. Emotion rolls down his cheek as he recalls marrying his wife 8 weeks after his diagnosis.
Dropping her off on her doorstep after a date in town, he kissed her goodnight. It had been 2 weeks since hearing the doctor's prognosis and his entire future seems uncertain. He pulls away from her and begins to walk away.
"Damn you Terry." He stops cold; never before had he heard such language come from her mouth. He turns to face her, unable to hide the shock he feels.
"Do you not realize I would rather spend 6 months as your wife, than a lifetime as your friend?" He bent down on his knee and proposed that very moment. They were married 6 weeks later.
He pauses to gain composure. Terry smiles and says, "She has been my wife and my friend for 16 years now. What blessings God does give."
The office door opens as two men walk in. Terry stands to leave. "Well I should get going now."
I stand; Terry turns back to face me. "Every day I start my day with devotions and when I pray I ask God to make me a blessing to someone." Tears flow, he does not wipe them away. "Today, you have been a blessing to me. Thank you."
Walking around my desk, I give Terry a hug. "No Terry, today you were a blessing to me." He walks out the door.
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I sit at my desk in silence as I watch him drive away. There are words that move you and there are words that can stir your very soul. My soul stirs within me making me aware it is God who spoke today.
I approach the throne with fear and trembling steeped in tremendous peace. I am sitting in a seat of uneasiness as it is a seat of correction. What is God trying to tell me? Of this I am uncertain, yet I know it is loving. Most certainly I am convinced that God spoke to me today and He did so through a man named Terry.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Trails, Snakes and Vacation
The sun is hot, the humidity bearable; even for a
moss-encrusted Washingtonian like me. I
could feel the wetness of our summer back home drying out as I ran the trail in
central Oregon. Sunshine feeling good
on my skin.
Standing at the top of the switchbacks, I pause to look at the vista before me. A few homes carve themselves into the cliff’s rock, which stand above the Deschutes River. I leave the top of the canyon and make my way down. The high desert sand and rock feel different under my feet. Several hundred feet later I am running alongside the river.
Squiggle lines in the dusty trail tell me snakes are part of the landscape. Grateful the early morning is too cool for the rattlers to be sun bathing, I thank God and ask Him to keep the snakes hidden. A quail stares at me as I run by. River water falls over large boulders changing the sound of peacefulness.
The trail no longer drops and the lazy current of the Deschutes returns. A deer nibbles on the leaves from a low laying branch of a tree. He doesn’t move as I run by despite me coming within 3 feet of it. Majestic.
3000 feet of elevation makes my body struggle to breathe. Leaving the river I must make my way out of the canyon. The trail’s steep climb, mixed with the elevation, burn my lungs as I try and run up the trail. The craziness of running this portion sinks in and I walk my way to the top. A startled jackrabbit takes off at a speed that makes me jealous.
A bike path waits for me once the trail meets the road. I follow it across the highway to the
backside of a golf resort nestled in a rather tall butte. Once I reach the top, I turn around to capture
the view. The rising sun glistens on the
city below. It’s beauty is
breath-taking.
Leaving the barrenness of the high desert landscape, the path leads me into a neighborhood of beautiful homes and well manicured lawns. Though the weather is warm, I see no one enjoying morning coffee on their patio. Such incredible outdoor living spaces and no one is enjoying them. How often I do this in my own life?
I find a main road and decide to turn toward my home for the week. My first run on vacation brought me views I would not have experienced inside a car. A tough 7 miles coupled with beautiful scenery has left me feeling rejuvenated.
Quietly I open the front door to find the household awake. The smell of freshly brewed coffee greets me; my mother in law hands me a cup. Taking a banana from the counter and with coffee cup in hand, I head out to the patio. My mother in law follows. We sit and enjoy the simplicity of the morning, taking nothing for granted but the pleasure of each other’s company.
Standing at the top of the switchbacks, I pause to look at the vista before me. A few homes carve themselves into the cliff’s rock, which stand above the Deschutes River. I leave the top of the canyon and make my way down. The high desert sand and rock feel different under my feet. Several hundred feet later I am running alongside the river.
Squiggle lines in the dusty trail tell me snakes are part of the landscape. Grateful the early morning is too cool for the rattlers to be sun bathing, I thank God and ask Him to keep the snakes hidden. A quail stares at me as I run by. River water falls over large boulders changing the sound of peacefulness.
The trail no longer drops and the lazy current of the Deschutes returns. A deer nibbles on the leaves from a low laying branch of a tree. He doesn’t move as I run by despite me coming within 3 feet of it. Majestic.
3000 feet of elevation makes my body struggle to breathe. Leaving the river I must make my way out of the canyon. The trail’s steep climb, mixed with the elevation, burn my lungs as I try and run up the trail. The craziness of running this portion sinks in and I walk my way to the top. A startled jackrabbit takes off at a speed that makes me jealous.
Leaving the barrenness of the high desert landscape, the path leads me into a neighborhood of beautiful homes and well manicured lawns. Though the weather is warm, I see no one enjoying morning coffee on their patio. Such incredible outdoor living spaces and no one is enjoying them. How often I do this in my own life?
I find a main road and decide to turn toward my home for the week. My first run on vacation brought me views I would not have experienced inside a car. A tough 7 miles coupled with beautiful scenery has left me feeling rejuvenated.
Quietly I open the front door to find the household awake. The smell of freshly brewed coffee greets me; my mother in law hands me a cup. Taking a banana from the counter and with coffee cup in hand, I head out to the patio. My mother in law follows. We sit and enjoy the simplicity of the morning, taking nothing for granted but the pleasure of each other’s company.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)