Running = Punishment (?)

Remember the Jack Daniels talk that I mentioned in my last post?  One thing that he mentioned in his talk, as a side note, really, is that in the US, running is viewed as punishment.  He took a little time to elaborate, pointing out how cross country is a sport often chosen by the weakest girls - those who have tried other sports and were unsuccessful.  (If I remember correctly, he was trying to explain why the high school athletes most prone to injury are female cross country runners - the result of a combination of a strenuous sport and a weak body).

I've returned to this statement several times in the past week.  I can relate to the story Coach Daniels told about girls choosing to run cross country.  My beginnings as a runner came during my junior year of high school.  I played softball in the spring for several years, but wasn't given many opportunities to play because I really wasn't very good.  Softball required some coordination, and coordination definitely isn't one of my strengths.  And neither was confidence.  When I was up to bat, or standing in the outfield, positioning myself to catch a fly ball, I really didn't believe that I could make the hit or the catch.  Anyway, I figured that I would try track and field.  After all, anyone can find some track or field event where they can excel, right?  Well, I was pretty weak, and it did take me a very long time before I saw much success with running.  Maybe, subconsciously, I did see this as a fitting punishment for me, as one who was unsuccessful at other sports.

My first response to Coach Daniels' statement was to disagree and to think of all of the reasons that I love to run.  But as I've spent some more time analyzing my running - my motivation, my habits - I've started to wonder if what he said is actually true for me too.

I think back over the past week, and it's been really heavy.  I've had all of the typical commitments with my family, and housework, and volunteer activities.  And night meetings and work and phone calls.  But on top of that, I've heard about or been involved in several situations that were discouraging - reading about environmental and health impacts to a community where my friend's parents live, learning more about natural gas drilling in PA, listening to several friends talk about recent struggles, visiting my 90-year-old and bedridden neighbor, watching an older family member struggle with her health, seeing some negative interactions on a team of girls that I help to coach.

Yesterday, I went out for a long run, and I pushed myself.  Hard.  I haven't run at that pace for that distance in months.

Is running how I work out this heaviness and pain?  Is running punishment - am I punishing myself for feeling badly that I can't stop all of these hard things from happening?

As I was reflecting on some of these things during my run yesterday, I came upon a bright spot.  It was one of the girls from the team that I help to coach - the one that's been experiencing some negativity - bounding down the street, the brightness of her smile and laugh matching that of the sun, which shone on us, driving away the dark.  Maybe I do use running as some strange form of punishment sometimes, but the good that's come from my running definitely outshines any bad.

The Good Life

Something seems a little off.  Our thermostat tells us that the room temperature is 68, but it feels like a chilly 68.  A message reading "system malfunction - please call technician for maintenance" confirms that we have a problem with our furnace.

This is the third minor issue in a couple of days.  First it was the driver's side windshield wiper that flew off while clearing the wetness from my view.  Next we had a problem with the chain connecting the handle to the flush valve on our toilet.  And now we're having some difficulty with the furnace.  These are just small annoyances, but enough to rouse a little anxiety, especially after a day of consuming higher-priced food and gas and hearing (again) about the impacts of climate change and political upheaval in the Middle East.  I've been working on praying about the small things - the things that deep down, I'm not sure really matter to God - and also trying to model this prayer attitude for my children, so I ask them to pray about the furnace.

Natalie's enthusiastic response:
"Dear God, please help us to fix the windshield, and help us to have a good life.  Amen!"

I smile.  Where does she come up with these ideas?

I ask Natalie what it means to have a good life.

"In a good life, bad things don't happen."

At age 3, Natalie already shares my perspective; often, my thoughts, words, actions, and prayers reflect this view - the view that good is just the absence of bad.  Frequently, I make choices in an effort to avoid the bad, but in the process, I think I miss out on a lot of good.  When I get stuck there, in that place of being scared of all that in my opinion, is bad, I'm living a life of not doing much of anything at all.  And if I don't take action, if I just say no to spending money or potentially offending people or failing at a new endeavor, I may miss opportunities to deepen a friendship, speak the truth, or find a new love.

The good life evokes images of large homes, fancy cars and clothes, impeccable health, career success, educational opportunity, vacations to exotic destinations, and intelligent, well-behaved children.  It looks secure and happy.  But is a good life truly built upon these things?  When I can quiet the urging of TV ads, facebook, and even my own misguided thinking, I discover that the good life must include some bad things to actually be...good.  Who can resist the wonder that rises up inside upon hearing stories of a reconciled relationship, a homeless man now able to provide for his own financial needs, a drought-stricken community that now has clean water, a back-of-the-pack runner who wins her race?  Are all of these reasons enough to make me wish for the bad?  I'm not there yet (i.e. I really want my warm house back without needing to pay a service technician!).  But remembering this makes me feel open to the possibility that something good can be birthed from something that, upon first glance, has the appearance of something bad.

This blog was birthed out of some decisions made after an experience with our old, broken-down dishwasher.  And I love what's been happening in me as a result of this blog.  Writing is so life-giving to me.  Like a tall glass of cold water after the longest marathon training run on the hottest summer day; right now, it's exactly what I need.  Thank goodness for the possibilities and opportunities presented by the broken.

What thoughts come to mind when you dream about the good life?  Is it a life that feels distant or unattainable, or could it be that the life you're living right now - the one that includes the monotony of laundry and snotty-noses, or the struggle of caring for aging parents, or the never-ending deadlines - is actually the good life?  Have you seen something good, or even life-changing, result from a difficult situation?  I'd love to hear from you!

Anticipation

Last night, after a whirlwind trip to attend Nana L.'s funeral service, we rushed to church to watch this year's Christmas program.  We had been waiting to see the play for months now.  Each Monday night for the last several weeks, Dave would quickly finish his dinner and leave for play practice, returning with bright eyes and words of praise for the other cast members.  With high hopes, we entered the church and took our seats.  And we weren't disappointed.  The play itself was funny enough, and the scenery, lighting, and sound were top-notch, but the cast really brought the show to life.  As a side note, our assistant pastor directed the play, and she has the gift of expectation.  She invites people into something greater than they can most times picture for themselves.  I'm convinced this quality called and required people to perform in ways they never thought possible.  It was a joy-filled time for me, a picture of church acquaintances and friends in their element and having so much fun as they told the Christmas story with carefully-crafted facial expressions, vocal inflections, and timing.

All good things take time and patience.  A line that Nana included in a letter she wrote to me while I was a college student, it was likely in response to some fears that I had at that point in my life...fears about my future...and mostly the fear that I wouldn't date or get married.  While my Nana was super-talented in multiple areas, I don't remember her being quick to dispense life advice, which was why this written wisdom was especially meaningful to me.  And boy, was she right.  I was waiting and waiting for the right man to enter my life.  Sometimes I waited with hope.  Most times, I feared that the very thing I longed for would never happen.  All along, the man waited for, the one I would marry, was there, and I had absolutely no idea.  First, he was just another member of our campus church group.  Then he became a (very funny and thoughtful) good friend of my sister's.  Next he decided to lead a Bible study on campus, and I was assigned to coach the Bible study leaders.  He was the troublesome one who wanted to break all of the Bible study rules.  I was the uptight one putting him in his place.  We will never be friends, I thought.  But then, the unthinkable happened: I observed him and grew to respect him and enjoy him, and apparently, he began to respect and enjoy me too.  I invited him to my work holiday party.  He threw snowballs at my window and left me thoughtful notes on my car.  He went running with me.  I sat with him as he attempted to complete school projects.  Our relationship was rising up.  It was growing, even blossoming.  I was hopeful.  Could this be the one I was waiting for?  Was our relationship one of the good things that my Nana wrote about?

As I type this, I'm waiting for some bread dough to rise.  Making bread doesn't seem to require any special skill or talent.  Really, you just need the ability to wait.  You mix the dough together and let it sit for hours.  Then you form the dough into a loaf and you let it sit some more.  Next you bake it for a while and let it sit until it's cool enough to slice.  Act, wait, act, wait.  It's hard though...the waiting, that is.  I'm hungry, and I know that the bread is good.  But the waiting makes the bread that much better.  I watched you rise up.  I smelled you as you were baking.  I longed for you.  I desired you.  And the longing and desire make you taste even better, even more satisfying, than what I could have imagined.

I *heart* my potty!

The marathon is just 2 days away!  As I begin finalizing plans and packing my things for the weekend, I think through all of the marathon-related logistics.  Honestly, one of the things I'm most concerned about is being able to find and use a toilet at the appropriate times before and potentially during the race.  Sounds silly, doesn't it?  But for those of you who have run in races (or have run at all), or have gone hiking or camping, or have tried to potty-train a child, you know that potty absence can be a real issue.   A bathroom or even a port-a-potty at the right moment is quite the welcome sight!

In case you didn't know, today is World Toilet Day, the day that we thank God for toilets and bring awareness to the fact that there are many people in our world (2.6 billion...that's close to half of the world's population) who don't have adequate access to proper sanitation.  Imagine what it would be like to have no certain place to go to the bathroom...if you had to worry for your privacy and safety.   Think about how your life would change if you needed to wonder whether there is poo in your water. (Yes, I ask my children to not talk about poop, at least not in public, but today, and for this purpose, it seems totally appropriate).

This is an important issue because people are drinking water that has been in contact with poo.  The dirty water gives them diarrhea, which leads to sickness and even death, especially among children.  Access to something as simple as a working toilet brings dignity, health, hope, and peace.

So be thankful for your potty today!

And speak out for those who don't have one. 

A Lesson From My Son

I went for a different kind of training run today.  Andrew wasn't up for the Y, but was excited when I asked him if he wanted to go for a bike ride.  So we went to a local park.  I ran with Natalie in the jogging stroller, and Andrew rode his bike (mostly) alongside us.  Initially, I thought that we were in the midst breakthrough moment; I would finally be able to complete all of my running with my kids!  But after 5 minutes on the bike, Andrew was starting to tire.

The park's paths weren't particularly hilly, but even so, there were several times where Andrew would stop at the bottom of a "hill" and ask for a push.  "Mommy, I can't do it," he would say.  He seemed to be intimidated by the grade and the length of the hills.  He's pretty new to bike riding, but experienced enough to know that he would need strong legs continually pedaling to keep the bike from moving backward, the default direction.  He wasn't sure that he was powerful enough to make it up the hill.

I'm having an I can't do it kind of day.  I feel like I'm marching upward on an escalator that's going downstairs.  The hills are working against me.  I'm looking for someone to push me so that I can achieve today's goals: a run long enough to match that on my training plan, a blog entry, a basket full of folded laundry, quality time with my husband and kids, some time in prayer for friends.

At the park today, when we approached the steepest of the hills, I told Andrew that he should try pedaling the bike up the hill, on his own, without a push.  I was confident of his abilities.  I wanted him to see that he could do it.

"Keep on going!  Use your momentum!"

"What's momentum mommy?"

 "You can do it!"

He was frustrated.  He wanted his push.  He was a little mad at me.  I was challenging him to think differently about himself and his obstacle, and that can be hard to accept.  But as he approached the crest of the hill, a huge smile grew across his face.  He had indeed done it.  He pedaled the bike up the hill, on his own, without a physical push.

I want to be like Andrew today.  I want to step up to the challenge to think differently about myself and my obstacles and my goals.  I want to listen to encouragement, even when it's different from the thoughts swirling around my head.  I want to keep pedaling when my muscles are screaming for me to stop.  I want to be pleased with my efforts and grow in confidence.  Thanks Andrew!

Drawing for Non-Artists...

...is the title of an art class that I took this summer.  All of you who know me know that art is not really my thing.  Or at least I've never seen it as my thing.  So I was quite surprised, or really more like shocked, when Dave presented me with the class folder and paperwork and told me that the art class was a Mother's Day gift.  At first, I didn't even want to accept the gift.  Considering the fact that I hated coloring as I child, I kind of resigned myself to the fact that I would never be an artist.

It felt like a big step for me to show up at the first class, but I managed to make it there with an open mind.  During the six classes, I learned some basic drawing theory (who knew that a drawings's focal point shouldn't be located at the center of the drawing!), made some new friends, and faced my fear of being totally uncreative and boring.  And my drawings weren't horrible!  In most cases, you can actually tell what I was trying to draw.

For our fourth class, we were to complete an expressionist drawing.  Our instructor told us to bring an object or photo to class and gave us a short explanation of expressive artwork.  She said that artists would often choose a situation or photo and then distort or exaggerate some aspect of the subject to express the feelings that the artist attaches to the subject.  She showed us several examples of expressive pieces from a textbook, including a painting of a streetlight.  I loved how the streams and the brightness of the light contrasted with the dark sky.  I loved how the light was winning against the dark.

So I decided to look for a photo of a fountain.  I was hoping to emphasize the size and number of drops of water to express the life, joy, and abundance that I associate with a fountain.  You might imagine how frustrated I was when I was unable to find a photo that matched the image in my mind.  When I finally exhausted my internet search, I noticed a magazine on our dining room table.  As I was flipping through it, I discovered Jon Warren's image of several women and children carrying water through a dry land in the early morning.  Right away, I knew that this was what I wanted to draw.

I hurried to class with the magazine and my art supplies.  As I sat down to draw, I intended to emphasize the rays and the brightness of the sun, symbolizing hope in the midst of a tedious and wearying, but necessary, task.  But as I continued, I found that the only thing that I felt compelled to express was the truth about these real people and their predicament.

The most important thing that I learned during my art class is that you need to look intently at something before you can draw it correctly.  You have to study your subject.  You can't look away because you're distracted or have too little time, or because you're disturbed by what you find as you investigate.  Your discoveries may alter your artwork, your thinking, or even your life.

So, how specifically did this situation result in a marathon registration, fundraising, and this blog?  You'll have to keep reading for the continuation of this story.

Searching for Simon

Some disclaimers totally unrelated to this post...I don't view myself as being particularly tech-savvy.  I'm also not an expert on running marathons, the world's water crisis, or engineering related to developing wells.  And I don't think I've done any kind of creative writing since college (and I didn't do much of it there).

But, I am excited about each of these things and trusting that in sharing what I'm learning, I can inspire action and hopefulness.  Or at least remind myself of the reasons I have to be hopeful.

Now on to Simon.  Simon is the child we started sponsoring after I attended the World Vision experience at a local church nearly 3 years ago.  It was challenging to walk through that exhibit and to be confronted by the HIV/AIDS crisis in Africa.  I wanted to be able to hide my eyes...to turn away, but I couldn't.  And I'm grateful.  I confess that I haven't been faithful in my communication with Simon, but it's been super encouraging to get pictures and letters and updates and just to be connected with someone in another part of the world.  Honestly, I knew nothing about Zambia before Simon.  Sounds horrible, but I didn't care about Zambia before Simon.

A few months ago, I was reading my Runner's World magazine when I came across an article about Ryan and Sara Hall, well-known U.S. distance runners, and their trip to Zambia with Team World Vision.  Oh, that's nice, I thought.  Then I noticed that they were in an area called Musele.  Isn't that where Simon is?  I pulled out my picture of Simon and started searching for him in the magazine pictures.  At some point, as I was studying the magazine photos, I realized that the Team World Vision runners were raising money for water projects that are directly impacting Simon.  I care about Simon, and so I care about Musele, Zambia.  I am thankful for the water projects that are granting this community access to a reliable source of water.  I am grateful for the donors who supported these projects.  I like to run.  That's nice.

When I was searching for Simon, I didn't have any idea that I would join Team World Vision.  It was just part of my story.  Isn't it crazy to look back and see how seemingly insignificant connections and circumstances can result in actions and stories that are big and purposeful?

Team World Vision's work in Musele, Zambia