Memories

Running reminds me I can do difficult things.

-Marie Krueger-Miller

The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner: My Half Marathon Adventure, Epilogue

So, I finished my half marathon.  13.1 miles completed in 3:11:24, well within my goal time of 3:30.  As I was running my route around the beautiful environs of Schroon Lake, I thought about this final post in this series.  I was going to review my training, the hours of running, the blisters, bone pain, mental challenges. Throughout those 3 hours, 11 minutes and 24 seconds I composed a most wonderful and inspiring post, peppered with some witty comments and hilarious dog stories ('cause, hey, I gotta be me).  All that changed on the ride home at a rest stop on Interstate 90.  While we were eating dinner, my sister/chauffeur/rehab trainer, Jean was checking her email when she let out a sad "Aww" and told me our friend Mike had died Sunday morning.

Mike had battled brain cancer for a couple of years. Some would say he lost his battle.  Those that knew him and read his Facebook posts throughout his treatment would say he'd won, no doubt about it.  Or as my pastor would term it, he died well. It seems to me that all Mike's life up to his cancer diagnosis was training for a long, difficult "race" through the trails and trials of treatment. He must have trained staunchly because he ran strong up until the very end, living faithfully for his Lord and Saviour.  Though in his final days his ability to communicate was severely limited, he still proclaimed the power of the Gospel by his demeanor through such difficult times.

While he underwent hours and hours of treatments, Mike would pray for different friends and family members and post those prayers on Facebook.  People I know who have had cancer are amazed when they hear this. They say if they did have any energy to pray, they prayed for themselves. Jean and I were once recipients of his prayers.To this day, I feel honored!

There were hundreds of people from all over the world praying for and cheering on Mike, most fervently his wife and two daughters.  There were a lot of people cheering me on and praying for me, as well.  My sister and my Aunt Joan who accompanied me the 400 miles to the race...and back again.  Anna, whose performance in last year's marathon I witnessed, which inspired me to attempt this run.  My brother who supported me...with teasing, and his wife who supported me by telling him to be nice! Brenda and the Barblings, Adiel, Mindy, Michelle and Joe, Fran, Ali and Dave. y coworker, Julie who knew my training schedule better than I did!  Facebook "Likes" and lots of texts over the last few weeks.  My Internet friend, Stacey who recommended The Runner's Devotional and who's blog posts  about her races - athletic, medical and spiritual - stirred up lots of thoughts in my brain and my soul. And I can't leave out Lucy who dragged me forward (usually after a squirrel) when my legs didn't feel like working anymore. Or Dora, who was so happy to walk with me during my cool downs, bright-eyed and waggy-tailed.

Both Mike and I have had lots of people (and dogs) in our corner.  But there were still many long stretches we each had to travel on our own, many silent miles where there was no one shouting encouragement, many "dark nights of the soul".  Still, it's said loneliness is a state of mind. "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; who can know it?" (Jer 17:9) Our emotions quite often lie to us, giving us a dysmorphic view of reality.

"A man of many companions may come to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother." Prov 18:24 That would be Jesus, AKA Emmanuel, meaning God is with us. GOD with us - "...a very present help in trouble" (Ps 46:1) who promised to He would never leave nor forsake us (Josh 1:5). THIS is the reality the enemy works to make us forget.

After I heard about Mike death, I recalled a portion of the morning's race.  At about Mile 2 I could hear loud cheers coming from across the lake.  I smiled thinking about how they'd be cheering for me when I got to that point.  That point was around Mile 4, where the race route crossed the campus of Word of Life Fellowship, a Christian ministry and camp.  There were almost a hundred kids, counselors and leaders yelling and cheering for me.  "Way to go #770 (my bib number)!"  "Lookin' good!" There were even a few who yelled out "Keep going, Barbara!!" It was surprising and heartening  to hear my name! Apparently, race officials hand out rosters of racers for that very reason (Note to self - if I ever do anything like this again, fill out the application as Barb). As I ran by, I joked to one of the leaders that I was "surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses" (Heb 12:1). Sitting at that roadside rest stop, I was struck by the thought that while I was hearing my "great cloud of witnesses" Mike was hearing the real thing, angels and saints elated to see him cross the finish line, yelling his name!

The other day, my dad called me to see how I was feeling (I was sore) and to tell me he was proud of me (I got teary-eyed). On Sunday morning, Mike's Father, Abba said the same thing to him. And that is why I continue to "run with endurance the race that is set before me" - to hear the words "well done, good and faithful servant".

There's An App For That : My Half Marathon Adventure, Part 4

When I first started training for the Adirondack Half Marathon, I found an App that seemed to suit my ability and my schedule.  I downloaded it on to my phone and started running,  The initial training sessions were short runs 1.5 miles, 2 miles, 3  miles.  No big deal.  Although it was often hot and muggy during my runs, the distances didn't really warrant carrying water.  As long as I was hydrated throughout the day, I felt fine.  The only thing I carried was my phone and, if a dog was accompanying me, a leash and a "waste" bag.

There are devices made, such as arm bands, so I wouldn't have to hold the phone, but I have never been able to find one that fit my arm.  They were either too big or too tight.  I've never been able to find one that was "just right" (dispense with the Goldilocks jokes, please) so I carried my phone, holding it in place under a rubber band wrapped loosely around my palm. The phone stayed in place while my circulation still circulated.

Still, on longer runs my palms got sweaty and the phone became an uncomfortable nuisance.  Additionally, though I needed it to track my mileage, I often found myself checking the phone to see how far I'd come - or more honestly, checking to see how much further I had to go.  I was not content to wait for the little App Coach to let me know my pace, split times and distance.  I would impatiently check the screen, sometimes actually stopping running to read the stats because of the sun and sweat in my eyes.

As I mentioned in a previous post, on longer runs I found the need to carry food and water to sustain my energy. I have a water bottle that has a handle which wraps around my palm, but like the phone it made my hand sweaty so I started tucking the bottle in to the waistband of my shorts.  It stayed in place...most of the time. But carrying food became a problem.  My running shorts don't have pockets so I had to resort to a "fanny pack".

In the pockets of my fanny pack, which I wore turned towards my front not my fanny, I stowed my phone, food, Kleenex, and a plastic grocery bag (for the dog). I still had to keep my water bottle in the waistband of my shorts.  I was now able to run with my hands free, unless I had a dog with me and then I only had to hold my end of the leash.

An aside here.  Back in June I went camping with my friends Adiel and Mindy.  During our hikes Mindy used a fanny pack to carry her keys, camera, water bottle, etc.  Though Mindy's pack was of a sportier style than most, Adiel and I still made fun of her.  Mindy, please forgive me!)

Some interesting things happened once I reorganized my paraphernalia and ran with empty hands.  I got faster.  (Note:  I said faster not fast.  I'm still slow.)

With the phone in my pack, the little App voice is often muffled or drowned out completely by the sound of street traffic.   When I do hear the App Coach, I can't always discern what she is saying; I only hear a "still, small voice" indicating to me I've made some forward progress.  I just have no idea of how much progress or how much further I have to go. But I love hearing that voice!

Hebrews 12:1 (NASB) says "...let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us".  Other translations use the word "weight" instead of "encumbrance". During my training runs, I wasn't carrying less.  In fact, counting the Swedish Fish and Animal Crackers in my pack, I was carrying more now.  The only difference was my hands were free.  I was no longer distracted by what I was holding.  And I was no longer glancing at my phone, looking to check my stats.

I carry a lot of baggage in my daily life.  I'm weighed down by my long "To Do" list, my worries and concerns. I'm distracted by the voices that tell me I'm behind, not good enough,I'll never catch up, I need to try harder. These are the encumbrances I need to shed.  This is sin of disbelief and this is where grace enters the picture. Just like on my runs, I have to reorganize how I carry things.

Some things Jesus said:

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." (Matt11:28)

"Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you at the proper time, casting all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you." I Peter 5:6-7

"Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden light." (Matt 11:29-30)

Grace humbles me, not as an embarrassment or a crutch.  Truth be told (sin confessed) my own pride is the crutch on which I lean...and run poorly. Grace is the very legs on which I stand and run the race set before me. Jesus wants me to finish this race and thus He provided the legs, He is there with me every stride, carrying my food and water, feeding me along the way, and telling me to press on.



 

Eat, Drink and Be Wary: My Half Marathon Adventure, Part 3

So much of the training for my upcoming race happened on weeknights after work.  Because I'm a slow runner, some of those longer training sessions could take upwards of two hours to complete; longer, if I was accompanied by a dog.

So that I wasn't running in the dark of night, most of the times when I got home from work I'd race through the door, let the dogs out, fill their food dishes, change my clothes, and head out the door for a run. About 10 to 15 minutes in to my runs I'd realize that the last time I'd eaten had been lunch six hours prior.   On  a  3-mile run that's uncomfortable but manageable.  On longer runs, that can be disastrous. During these sessions I'd become nauseous, shaky, and noodle-legged, barely making it home.  After a few times of "bonking" I learned my lesson and started grabbing a quick snack (usually a banana) before my run. For long sessions, I'd try to eat something more substantial - peanut butter toast and the always reliable banana. I also started carrying food (animal crackers and Swedish Fish) and water with me. These practices made a noticeable difference on my endurance.

Staying hydrated is also important for runners.  Dehydration not only affects a runner's performance but can be deadly, as well. Lack of water makes your blood thicker and sludge-like and makes your heart work harder.

I drink a lot throughout the day, but my preferred beverage is diet soda or iced tea, not water. Since the bulk of my training was during the high heat of July and August, I knew hydration was of particular importance so I made it a point to substitute water for diet soda as my pre-run drink, though a majority of my drinking during the day still consisted of the not-so-healthy beverages.  I did not become dehydrated during these runs, as my sweat-soaked clothes indicated but I found my endurance suffered.  It was not until I started regularly drinking water throughout my days that I found my strength lasted throughout my sessions. It seems that unlike food, where a quick bite to eat will give me a jolt of energy, hydration needs to be built up and sustained over time.

There are some definite spiritual parallels here. Jesus is called the Bread of Life (John 6:35) He offered the woman at the well living water (John 4:10-11).  Our souls need to eat and drink.  David prayed to God in Psalm 63

 “my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.”

If living the life of a disciple is a race, we “runners” must take in nourishment. We must feed on the Word of God. We must drink of Jesus, the Living Water.

“Your words were found, and I ate them, and your words became to me a joy and the delight of my heart…” Jeremiah 15:16

“Man shall not live on bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.” Matt 4:4

“Jesus stood up and cried out, ‘If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink.” John 7:37

“With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.” Isaiah 12:3

For believers in Christ to finish the race set before us, we need to practice good spiritual nutrition, taking in the food and drink God has set before us.  We do this through prayer drinking in His Spirit, absorbing His very presence in to our own souls. We eat of His Word, the Bible by reading, meditating on and hearing the Word preached.

          “So faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of

Christ.” Romans 10:17

I learned the hard way through dizzy spells and painful leg cramps that I need to eat and drink properly to run well if I intend on finishing this half marathon. I’ve learned the hard way that I cannot ignore my need for Jesus if I intend to finish the race He set before me. That race is lifelong and requires more than an occasional healthy snack, but regular, intentional healthy practices in order to cross that finish line. A DNF in that race is deadly.

So Why Am I Doing a Half Marathon Anyway?: My Half Marathon Adventure, Part 2

Anyone who knows me knows I'm not a natural athlete.  As I mentioned before, my running is more like a lumbering plod. I'm more endomorph than ectomorph; soft and curvy, not hard-bodied or lithesome.  So why run a distance race?

I confess, it's the swag.  Bigger races of longer distances give out better loot.

Certainly, I have other motivations.  I enjoy the challenge. I want to be fit and healthy. I desire to maintain an active lifestyle and better quality of life. But when you get right down to it, I like getting prizes.

Many, many years ago I volunteered to work at a local 5K race for which I was given a long sleeve

t-shirt with an impressive race logo and the word "STAFF" down one sleeve.  I felt official. When I wore that shirt I walked taller, a proud participant in an athletic event. I was hooked.

Since then, I've volunteered and walked in numerous charity events for t-shirts. And for really special events, hooded sweatshirts! Once I started racing, I rated the race based primarily on the quality of the t-shirt. I've raced in rain, sleet, sweltering heat and even in the dark wearing a tutu, all for the swag. 

My race times will never qualify me for any prizes, but for the distance races - marathons and half-marathons - they give all the finishers a medal! I want that prize! I want to feel the weight of it hanging from my neck. 

Notice the tutu on the left?

This sounds shallow and selfish, but really, I've got biblical precedent to back me up! The apostle, Paul said in 1 Corinthians 9:24 "Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it." He knew, people like to win things. 

In the next verse he then says "Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable." T-shirts are definitely perishable items.  That "STAFF" t-shirt I prized sits in a landfill somewhere. The picture above is only a sampling of the

t-shirts I've collected through the years. Most have been relegated to the rag bag. Evan a medal won't last forever. A disposable item subject to rust and tarnish it will eventually wind up in the trash, I'm sure.

There are better things to work for, "...I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus (Philippians 3:14)" being one of them. Still, to have and to hold a piece of metal is tangible evidence for me of "the prize of the upward call of God". That prize connects my physical senses with spiritual sense and gives some validation to the hours I've spent training - bodily training and training in godliness (I Timothy 4:7-8) God does give rewards, some which one can actually see and touch, hear, taste and smell. They should not be discounted.

So, on September 27, Lord willing, I will be testing my mettle in order to receive a metal medal. I will also be thankful for the strengthening of my spirit that has occurred during this training, a strength that does not diminish with time, as does bodily strength.

I'm Only Half Crazy:My Half Marathon Adventure Part 1

Last year at about this time I traveled to the Adirondacks to watch my friend Anna run her first marathon, the Adirondack Marathon Distance Festival .  The marathon and the half marathon are run on the same course and as I watched runners racing towards the finish, I saw a number of half marathoners.  I was struck by how many of them had my build and ran at about my speed. Watching them, I thought "I could do that" and so an idea was planted.

I'm not a speedy runner. In fact my run is more of a plod…sprinkled with bouts of walking in between. I don't necessarily enjoy running as much as I enjoy the sense of accomplishment I feel after I've run. And to keep me motivated to run, I try to have a race scheduled for which I have to train.  When I returned from the Adirondacks I was training for the annual Turkey Trot 5K held on each Thanksgiving Day.  After that, winter came and I put my running shoes away for the season. With sub-zero wind chills and ice covered streets, no sense of accomplishment is worth frostbite or a broken hip.  I spent much of my winter sitting under a blanket in my chair close to the heating vent.

Still, under the warmth of heavy blankets, watered by numerous cups of hot tea, that seed of an idea of a half-marathon began germinating. I started looking in to different races, the Pittsburgh Half Marathon being one of them. As a Pittsburgh native, this race appealed to me for many reasons.  The race route snakes its way across many of the city’s bridges, offering a once in a lifetime opportunity to travel across them without dodging traffic!

But the Pittsburgh race is in early May requiring winter training – not practical for me. Many other races I looked at didn’t fit my schedule, either.  Spring races require winter training.  Summer races mean I’d be training and racing in the hottest weather.  Winter races are held in warmer climes requiring larger travel expenses and extra vacation days.  A fall race, though requiring training in the hot summer, seemed the best fit. And what better place to spend a fall weekend than in the Adirondacks?

So on Sunday, September 27,  I will be running 13.1 miles around Schroon Lake, in my first ever half-marathon.  I started serious training around July 4^th during which time, God has taught me much. In instances in the Bible, the life of a Christian is compared to running a race. I can now relate more intimately to these examples. Over the next fourteen days I plan to post some of what the Spirit has shown me. 

Until now, I haven’t told many people about my race. Saying “Oh, did I tell you I’m running the Adirondack Half Marathon?” did not sound natural coming from my mouth.  I’m more likely to discuss the Marathon candy bar than a road race, and I’m more knowledgeable about the candy bar, as well!

Still, one of the things God has been teaching me is that I need to enlist more prayer support for certain things.  To that end, I am asking that you all would pray for me for my race.  I have some specific requests here:

1.   Pray that I finish!  If I ran the first mile in under 4 minutes but didn’t finish the race, it would all be for nothing.
2. (OK, this request is pure pride, I confess) They close the road to vehicles until 2:30 pm (or 4-1/2 hours after the half marathon begins), at which time they reopen the road.  Pray that I finish the race before they reopen the roads. Though I think I’ll be finished by then, I’m not sure.  I’m a slow runner and this is a hilly course.  It’s hard enough on the ego to finish at the back of the pack, if not last; but to be running while cars are driving by, seeing people check their watches and mouth the words “is someone still out there??”…  It’s embarrassing. 
3. (This one’s a stretch goal) If all goes well, if conditions are right – good weather, I eat right, I dress right, I feel right, I run the course right - I guess what I’m saying here is if conditions are perfect) I could finish in under 3-1/2 hours. Still slow, but acceptable for my dignity. Pray that I finish well.
4. Finally, pray that I not be so concerned with results, keep my pride in check and just enjoy the experience.

“…and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith…” Hebrews 12:1d

$#IT Happens

Opinions differ in the religious realm on the use of expletives .  There's the famous commandment about not taking the LORD's name in vain; yet, technically unless one uses the word God or Jesus Christ in the phrase this commandment is not applicable.

There is the Bible verse about unwholesome words (Ephesians 4:29), which has also been translated and interpreted as foul language, corrupt speech, and abusive talk to name a few.  But foul is "in the ear of the beholder" and one person's swearing can be another person's normal manner of speech.

Me, I take the middle ground.  I was raised to not swear.  If I had, my dad would probably have cussed me out! The use of some crude language does not phase or offend me and I admit that certain words have passed my lips.  You see, there are times "Darn!" and "Son of a GUN!" do not adequately express my true feelings of the moment.

Last week, I was running with Lucy when calamity struck.  I've run hundreds of miles with my dogs and this was the first time anything like this happened.  About halfway through our two-mile run the "waste" bag exploded on me.  And it's (uh) contents were not in their usual (ahem) compact form (I'm trying to be genteel here, folks).  Needless to say, my immediate reaction was shock and surprise, with a bit of disgust thrown in for good measure.  But at a time when a certain expletive would have been very appropriate; undeniably a statement of fact I said "Oh shoot" instead.

Lucy and I immediately reversed course and headed home.  It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon and my neighbors were out in full force. Sun shining brightly, they all walked with heads held high, wide awake and aware, taking in their surroundings, especially the lady in the red t-shirt walking her dog.  I was hard to miss.  Dog leash in one hand, half full blue plastic bag in the other, strange brown splotches staining the front of my t-shirt as well as the cuffs of the sleeves. I was trying too hard to be unnoticed, walking surreptitiously, avoiding all eye contact. I walked bent over a bit, trying to cover the brown stains, but I couldn't bend over too much lest I spread the damage. Besides, I didn't want my face anywhere near my shirt.  It stunk!

As we walked towards people, I found myself again muttering "Oh, shoot".  Neighborhood dogs, attracted to my new scent approached me with glee and I thought "Oh, shoot!"  When I saw people I knew, I groaned this epithet, adding additional syllables "Oh, shoooooot".

Somehow we made it the mile home without me being overcome by fumes, embarrassment or a bout of retching. Once in the safety of the my house, I threw my clothes in to the washer and threw myself in to a hot shower.  Lucy and Dora were a bit disappointed, hoping they could roll around in my dirty laundry a bit.  After the decontamination process, I calmed myself by telling myself no one had gotten close enough to know what was on my shirt (except for maybe the neighborhood dogs) and filed the incident in the back of my brain.

But that is not the end of the story.  I think my guardian angel has a side job as the Patron Saint of Irony.

At work a few days later, we received shipment of a statue for the chapel (I work at a church-sponsored organization).  The order had been placed 8 weeks prior and was complicated.  The statue, a 4-foot tall wooden carving of the Risen Christ, was pricey and had been shipped all the way from Italy.

When the Receiving staff told me the order had come in I asked how it looked.  They said it was fine but one woman thought one arm looked odd.  My shoulders and my countenance sagged.  And there, in a church-run organization, in reference to a statue of the Savior of the universe what words do you think fell out of my mouth?  "Oh Sh*t!"

I give up trying to make sense of me.

Negative Splits

Yesterday, I ran in the Erie Runners' Club Turkey Trot 5K.  This was either my 4th or 5th time running this race and it's become an annual tradition, as much a part of my Thanksgiving holiday as turkey dinner.  I'm not fleet-footed, as my race times bear out but I enjoy being outdoors and the physical challenge.  And as I tell my running partner Adiel, at least we are out there and not at home on the couch.  Yesterday, I read a quote that presented it better.  It said "No matter how slow you go, you are still lapping the people on the couch."


During today's run I was thinking about this (when you run as slow as I do, you have a lot of time to think).  Sure, some of the people lounging at home are lazy, but a number of them have very legitimate reasons for not running.  Health issues, finances, responsibilities, child care.  I was not better than they were for having raced.  Nor were those across the finish line sooner, better than me (though they were better runners, for sure).


The verse "...let us run with endurance the race that is set before us."  (Hebrews 12:1) came to mind. Though we were all on the same course running the same distance, the race ahead of me was different than the other 3,100 people there and it was God who decided who should do what and when.


My goal is to someday run a 5K in under 40 minutes.  My official time was 44:25.3 I knew at the 2.6 mile mark that I wouldn't make my goal but then my phone app informed that my most recent split times were faster than those earlier in the race.  I was running negative split times; running faster at the end of the race than I had at the beginning!


While training for this race, I was much more intentional.  I followed a particular training schedule and even downloaded music that had the beats per minute that would help me achieve the pace I wanted to meet that sub 40 minute race time. Running negative splits was quite an accomplishment for one of my limited skills and the news encouraged me to put forth the effort to run the rest of the way to the finish line rather than walk.


Negative splits seem to be happening in my spiritual race, as well.  My spiritual pace seems to have picked up, with God blessing me with insight and (dare I say) wisdom. Sometimes the Spirit throws so many nuggets my way I can't catch them all; it's overwhelming. Yet, none of this would have been possible had it not been for the "training days" of my past.  Many of those "training sessions" were very difficult, tortuous in fact.  I slogged through some very difficult situations that taxed me and darn near drained my emotional and spiritual stores.  Many times I was on the verge of throwing in the towel and just living the life I wanted, running my own race on the course of my choosing rather than the one God laid out for me.  To His glory and by His mercy, He didn't let me stray off course and by His grace I kept plodding on.


I believe my spiritual split times have improved because, like my recent training regimen, I'm more intentional about my relationship with God.  Because I've come so close to giving up at times and was given a glimpse of how terrifying that would be, I concentrate on the center of the course, staying away from the edges when I can.


Spiritual training can take many forms - church attendance, meditation, prayer, sacrifice, etc.  But performing these acts doesn't produce any spiritual stamina unless the soul is engaged.  Going to church or Bible study without involvement of your heart and an active faith is like buying running shoes and jogging pants but never going for a jog. You might look like a runner but you'll never make it through a race and when the weather is bad you might not even show up, choosing to stay home on the couch.


I've made it this far because I believe God's promises; promises like "I will never leave you or forsake you.", "He will make your paths straight" and "He will grant you the desires of your heart"; there are hundreds of them.  Some of those promises will be fulfilled along the way while others won't be experienced until the end of the race.  But I keep my eyes opened, looking for those answers, whenever and however they appear.


I don't know if I'll maintain my current pace or what the path ahead looks like; what twists, turns or hills lie ahead.  I don't even know how far along in this race I am!  Fifty-three years?  One hundred and three years (my grandmother made it to 102, so this is entirely possible)?  Regardless, I will continue plodding along on the race God planned for me at the pace He set for me.  The pace He established - sometimes a fast run, other times a slow walk - He established with the intent of my finishing.  He promised. 


 ^"And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ."  Philippians 1:6

It Keeps You Runnin’ – Thoughts on Singleness, Part 1

Since the early 80’s I’ve tried running for exercise.  I love hiking and walking so running seemed a natural progression.  I wanted to run because it would up my fitness level in less time than walking and there were races where I could get great t-shirts.  But where running was concerned, I never hit my stride.

I’m a heavy walker and so I’m also a heavy runner.  Therefore, I doubly felt the impact of every stride.  The jolting waves would begin in my feet, travel up my legs, jostle my insides (rearranging internal organs in the process), move up through my shoulders, to my head and abruptly stop.  The resulting headaches and other pains were manageable.  It was the discombobulation that I found most uncomfortable.  After a run I was disoriented and my insides felt like jiggly jello.  For those reasons, my attempts at becoming a runner would stop.  A year might go by and I’d try again for a month or two with the same results and so I gave up the sport.

A few years ago, my walking partner, Adiel asked me if I’d consider training with her for a 5K fundraiser for a local crisis pregnancy center.  Though I still didn’t like running I agreed,  just to be a supportive friend.  During our training, my insides still felt as though they’d gone twelve rounds with Mohammed Ali, but for Adiel’s sake I continued training and on race day, I finished my first 5K – dead last, but I finished.  And somewhere in all that training I stopped feeling the impact of every step.  Somewhere along the trail my body adapted to the jolts. I now run semi-regularly and have completed a number of 5K races.  I have the T-shirts to prove it!

Quite often, my days feel like those early attempts at running.  I feel the impact of the world strike my heart.  There’s crime, politics, world affairs, work squabbles.  I wield my armor of God and dodge sin’s swipes at my soul. But Satan knows my Achilles heel - my marital status – and routinely wages his attack.  A coworker gets flowers from her lover.  Another shows pictures of her new grandchild.   All these strikes hit me at my weakest spot. And Facebook is downright excruciating with announcements of engagements, births, and romantic vacations.  Work and other responsibilities offer some distraction, but by week’s end I’m battered and bruised and in need of some R&R.

The place where I should naturally be able to lay down my armor and be refreshed would be at church but that has not been the case.  Let me say that I go to a wonderful church with godly teaching and leadership. The people there love Jesus and love me – in that order (very important).  But church is where what I want (and lack), marriage and children are fully on display.

Going to church is like walking a gauntlet. I am always taking glancing blows at my most tender spot.  I turn my head and see a couple holding hands during prayer – WHACK.  A husband puts his arm around his wife’s shoulder – BAM.  A baby cries – WHAM.  Pastor says during his sermon “you might want to discuss this sermon as a family at lunch today”– KAPOW.

Sunday after Sunday I either steel myself for the next punch or I take every hit and cry throughout the service.  Weary from doing battle all week, it’s usually the latter. Conventional wisdom would ask if I’m that upset and hurt at this church, why not go to another? Or why go to church at all?  Good question… with a good answer.

For one thing, there are married people and kids and family life at other churches.  There’s no guarantee I wouldn’t have the same problem elsewhere.  And I can’t be sure a new congregation would be as patience with my emotionality as my current one.  Next, when I joined this church I made a commitment to those people, and they made a commitment to me, as well.  No one intentionally hurts me.  People are living their normal, God-given lives and I’m just getting jostled in the crowd, the bruises on my soul invisible.

I don’t go to church because it looks pretty, has good music or suits my learning style (yes, that was a swipe at Donald Miller). I go to church, in spite of my pain, to worship God.  I go to church, in spite of my pain, because He commanded it. I go because I truly believe He blesses worshipers with some imperceptible change during the service.  I go because I believe some day He’s going to do some really big thing and I don’t want to miss it!

All this said, during today’s service J & M still held hands. R put his arm around his wife’s shoulders.  Babies cried (and there were more than usual in attendance).  During his sermon, Pastor used the words husband, wife, children, and family all within seconds…and the sermon wasn’t even about family!   Yet, throughout I never felt a single hit.  Not once!  I never felt the need to brace myself for an impending blow and I didn’t shed a tear.

Just as I no longer feel the pounding of the pavement when I run, maybe those imperceptible changes from all those worship services have added up and I will no longer feel the attacks on my heart. Granted, it’s only been one week.  During a particularly challenging run on Friday, though  didn’t feel the jostling of old, my feet really hurt; they’d taken a beating.  Future worship services may be similar. I don’t know.

But I do know that I plan on completing the race God has set before me.  I may complete it having never been married.  Whatever my marital state when I cross the finish line, I will receive the prize.  Jesus s will be waiting there for me.  And He will be holding a t-shirt that says “Well Done Good & Faithful Servant”.

My Sixth Sense

While out running with my dog, Dora this evening, I was struck by how all my senses were engaged during our jaunt.  I was enjoying the view of the beautiful sunset, the salty sweat dripping from my top lip onto my tongue.  A light rain began to fall and I felt the refreshing droplets tickle my face, the fresh clean scent filling my nostrils.  I was listening to some jazz music while enjoying the gentle shower when I realized what band I was listening to - Weather Report.  During my spurt of giggles I realized I have a highly developed sixth sense - a sense of humor!