Backstretches

As any of my former track coaches could attest to, the longer distance races were not my specialty. My high school coach often joked that he would need to pull out a calendar to time my quarter mile. As I progressed to the 800m “dash” in college, I did so with trepidation because it hurt. Whether I ran it in 3:03 or 2:23, the pain always met me along the way. The fear subsided as I grew in confidence that a) I wouldn’t die. b) I could improve each time. c) I only had to run it 2-3 times a year. d) The 800 is way easier than the 400. (It’s not logical and highly disputed by those who run the shorter race, but let them enjoy pools of lactic acid in their butts.)

There is one stretch of the 800 that required a certain amount of extra focus, desire, and guts. At the 500 mark, with just 300 to go, one is faced with a seemingly endless straight backstretch. Due to track construction methods, this stretch is often into the wind and lacking any sort of stadium area for cheering. It is here that one realizes how much more is left. It’s as if the 800 has started over. For me, a curve girl, the straight track simply felt like a desert without an oasis. But of course, once I made it to the corner, I had but 175 meters to go and an end literally in sight.

Why bring up this now, you might ask? A valid question especially since I’m no longer training for such short races but instead want to tackle 26.2 miles. A marathon is just slow, endless and somehow thrilling in its own insane way, but not a proper analogy at this point in time. No, the 800 race reminds me of my current life.

Mac and I have worked out a system so that we’re both as productive as possible (he is succeeding way more than I am) and still attentive to each other despite living in different cities. Every other weekend we visit each other, enjoy a nice dinner or go to a show, and catch up on SEEING each other as we share stories and make plans.

Well, as I’ve come to notice, this is like running an 800 with that middle weekend posing as the looming backstretch. The two weeks fly by when we’re both busy, running the curves I might say, and living for the moment. But the lactic acid build-up and long straight stretch always greet me on the weekend. I know that I’m half way there, but tell that to my heart. Finally on Sunday night, I realize how close we are to reuniting. I’ve hit the curve, see the end in sight, and can’t wait to collapse into his arms.

Like the 800 races I ran, I know I will survive these relationship races. I find way too much joy in a heptathlon and in Mac to let this one little portion of the event keep me down. So instead of looking at my calendar to cross off the days, I’m going to hit the gym and my knees in prayer so the backstretches become a strong part of my race.

Normal days

Jet lag creeps in and out of my day. Since returning late Friday night, I’ve slept just enough to be functioning and yet somehow I can ride my bike everywhere. They say once you’ve lost sleep you can’t get it back. So I am simply trying to sleep a normal amount so I can do normal life again.

Define normal…

This morning I woke up more tired than expected or desired so my psyche was a little off. Little things were irking me. My focus was lost. And I felt like I had never been on vacation. Three weeks of rejuvenating were wasted. By 9am, after taking the car to the shop, riding my bike to work, checking in with some of my volunteers, and reading over an upcoming project, I was exhausted and discouraged, but I couldn’t blame sleep deprivation. Normal had hit me with a bat rather than patting me with encouragement.

So I stopped. Took a deep breath and prayed.

In talking to God, I realized that normal days and vacation are not opposites. Reality and responsibility aren’t antonyms to rest and relaxation. I can find all of these ideas interwoven if I look closely. Apostle Paul told people in Philippi that he really wanted to be with God forever. Talk about a sweet vacation. He also said that in leaving he would miss the important stuff he needed to do on earth. He was torn but resigned to live the normal days in preparing to love the eternal days.

I lived the rest of this Monday with the hope for this normal day and all that would come of it. As it turned out, the issues I had at work ironed out and the timer isn’t buzzing yet. The feelings of loneliness melted away with conversation after conversation, some planned and most spontaneous moments of grace. The uncertainty about commitments or future plans transformed into positive forward momentum.

I can’t take any credit for a change in the day. I didn’t go back to sleep and wake up on the other side. I let God in on my normal day. For him the day is not just normal. It’s a new creation.

Settle(d)

My blue and orange backpack lays piled in the trunk of the airplane, the final baggage fee paid. My shoes sit under my seat without any accompaniment for the next nine hours. And my soul rests securely. All is settled.

Before I left Spokane, a friend who knows me from school, athletics and along the journey to answer the question, “What do I want to be when I grow up?” asked me an interesting question. Perhaps his way and meaning of saying it gave me ponder. With genuine curiosity, perhaps concern, but with wisdom of age and experience, he asked, “Are you ever going to settle?”

At that time and for most of my life, the word settle came with a negative connotation. I only saw the advantage when playing soccer and settling the ball allowed me to be in control. Instead, definitions such as “resignation”, “calm and quiet”, “established with big responsibilities”, “accepting the lesser” crowded my understanding of this complex word.

So my answer might have eluded the question, but with complete sincerity and understanding as I had then, I responded, “I’m more a pioneer and explorer than a settler.”

Now, four weeks the wiser, his question gives me pause.

Pioneers also settled, but did they do that because they found what they wanted or just grew too tired to keep looking? I certainly don’t blame them for stopping and am quite grateful they didn’t all make it to California because the beauty and mysterious majesty of Wyoming might have gone unexplored. But perhaps they stopped in Wyoming not out of fear of the ominous Rocky Mountains or due to exhaustion or overwhelming loss, but simply because they found beauty. They stopped to enjoy the fullness of God’s creation, the big skies for good, healthy breathing, the families that had survived thus far, and the peace giving calm and quiet that only in Wyoming, when they stopped, had they known. These pioneers discovered newness and wholeness like any explorer before them. And these pioneers became settlers on their own positive terms.

Pioneering and settling both have great qualities that bring life and wellness. They both come with fear, uncertainty, disappointment, and require deep discernment.

Have I driven in my homestead stake, concluding that I have found the time and place for the settled life? Yes and no. Now I have a better grasp of what pioneering requires of and provides for my physical, mental, emotional and spiritual health. And I am learning through the wisdom of others the pros and cons of settling. What I’ve determined above all is that one is not exclusive of the other. Just as a pioneer has to settle in the winter before proceeding over the unknown mountain range, one has to continue to discover new ways of survival and growth in the settled life.

Settle: to move or adjust to rest in a comfortable position.

This definition seems to embrace both ways of life.

movement

Preface: Since I haven't updated this blog about Gothenburg, I should simply note that I came here to experience something a little bit new and out of the ordinary "tourist" visit. That entails couch surfing (aka staying with a total stranger and being at their whim as to the days' activities) and not bringing a guidebook. Therefore, I attended a party in the park, traversed the islands of the Western Archipelago system, slept in my hosts bed (she was kind enough to take the couch) and tried to stay in sink with my host, a fire ball of energy, and her poodle.

Today I rode my bike 20 minutes to run for 45 minutes to swim for 15 minutes to ride my bike back home. Then after a quick bite to eat, I went rock climbing. While I didn't do all that much, I did go up once, didn't die, and still felt sore. Once I returned to the apartment, I jumped in the shower and off to dinner. My host does not believe in public transit since we walked an hour to find food and another hour in another direction to get home. Needless to say I saw the city and I'll sleep well tonight.

I learned a great deal about myself today and the way that God works. As I ran, I realized that sometimes low points in life are the places where God wants us to rest. That's certainly true of the valleys of a hilly trail along the beach. Hurting due to physical strain in the midst of "fun" is not something I'm too excited about anymore. With wise encouragement, however, I'm willing to bear anything. I have the capability of falling asleep while I'm walking especially when my blood sugar is low. Perhaps that's called fainting. Evangelizing through words is not one of my strengths, but I can see how God works through my character anyway if I let him.

I board a train first thing July 4. No fireworks or BBQs are necessary to celebrate independence. Just a long nap on the way to next stop.

European Yogurt

I prefer this Swedish yogurt “Yoggi” that I’m eating right now. It’s thicker, less sweet but still as flavorful as that in America. I know the many reasons why yogurt is different in various countries; I’ve read a book or two about it. But I’m here to champion Swedish yogurt.

Traveling offers countless opportunities to compare, contrast, and sometimes criticize the new or home worlds. Of course, most of the differences are just that and don’t really engender superior value. Just because I enjoy Swedish yogurt better than what I find in Safeway doesn’t mean Sweden is a far more excellent country. It just means my breakfast is a bit more enjoyable. Comparing and contrasting is impossible not to do as humans. Not only is it necessary for survival (i.e. on public transport I have to keep my things close in order to avoid pickpockets even if at home I leave things in my car overnight.) but it’s also an enjoyable exercise that opens one’s eyes to the world as it has never been before (i.e. I rarely see men in bright colored pants and blazers conducting business in America.)

On Saturday evening, the Downeys hosted a dinner party of 3 couples from their international church. The table included a Polish couple, a Chicago-native and her Swedish husband, and a Danish woman and her American husband. Conversations flowed beautifully with unique turns and clops of accents. We shared stories of travel, pondered the differing characteristics of churches in Europe and America, and ate a wonderful meal of BBQ hamburgers. I learned that getting a driver’s license in Sweden is extra difficult because the culture is based around public transport. I recognized that tithing is more an American practice while Europeans give offerings at church. I discovered that despite knowing several languages, a skill most Americans only dream of having, obtaining a job in a global market is just as taxing and trying as it is in America.

The variety of this world is remarkable and to think that God has a plan and purpose for each of us in our own little pocket of this planet continues to strike me with awe. But I think God in all his wisdom realized that the differences were necessary for us to be interested in each other. Yes, this is a very Western idea since the Japanese tend to focus on similarities more than differences. But the point remains: in our sweet or tangy or thicker or runnier ways, each person and place can enhance human life and make both guests and hosts more of who they’re meant to be by sharing perspectives.

CARDBOARD & capital letters

Driving down the street this morning, I read a man’s cardboard sign, “VIETNAM VET. ANY HELP GOOD.” Yesterday I remember seeing a man slinging this backpack and holding a sign stating, “HOMELESS. PLEASE HELP. GOD BLESS.” More and more of these signs are popping up on street corners throughout this town. Both men and women seek a dollar or work or anything because “LAID OFF WITH TWO KIDS. ANYTHING HELPS.”

The abundance of these people with their cardboard signs of capital letters breaks my heart for their circumstance. I can’t imagine what it feels like to endure the loss of dignity not to mention means to survive in this country. But I also wonder if these people have lost their identity and if my friends and I would hold up signs to identify our present realities and allegiance.

The VIETNAM VET took provide in this name and yet seeks compassion because of it. As I passed him, I thought about what he’s done since he served in that war. Was being a soldier his crowning moment? Was serving the USA in armed forces the only accreditation that people would acknowledge? His positions both in the military services and veterans rank are honorable, and yet are they a cop-out or consequence for his current reality? That man has found his name in this one position for what seems to have been a significant portion of his life. How does his spirit feel to have a same associated with power now associated with humility and loss?

HOMELESS. Lack of place often results in lack of identity. Where better to be than the corner if not in a home? The hardships of homelessness are great and not easy overcome. Time, energy, resources, and an enormous amount of perseverance are required. And the same is needed to find identity. More than just he homeless are at a loss for people in a dead end job, graduates, retired folk, and many others enduring change in life sense a listless wandering of where one is to be grounded and safe at home. It’s not a lack of desire to be settled, but what? The best cardboard sign?

The LAID OFF DAD cries out the most to me as he’s pleading for help in his cause. He’s fighting to protect and provide for his kids no matter what the loss to him. He’s identified what’s most important to him and seeking to hold fast to that identity. Who will come alongside him? What will he sacrifice to win?

Do other signs exist that we ignore? STRUGGLING ARTIST. DESPERATE IGNORED WIFE. DOUBTING CHRIST FOLLOWER. FRIGHTENED LEADER. APATHETIC WITH SCHOOL LOANS.

These signs offer up undisclosed identities. People cry to drop and destroy this cardboard sign. But how? Just like a dollar on the corner has little power to change a person forever, solutions seem untenable for this list. Yet, just like naming a child demonstrates a newborn’s existence in the world, life through transformed and restored identities can be had.
Restore dignity.
Affirm great and honorable qualities.
Give companionship.
Maybe these should be on cardboard.

being misguided by my own goodness

“Sometimes our greatest gifts can be the quickest way to sin.”

Walking with my dear college roommate brings me great pleasure (not to mention a cute figure) but also challenges my thoughts and actions. She once reminded me that Satan can use what we’re most good at to lead us astray, even if that simply means forgetting about God. I hate to admit it, but I had a taste of that today.

A family from Congo relocated here last July after leaving several years of “captivity” as refugees in camp. Life was hard with two meals a day of rice and beans all year long and no scenery or familiar landscape a part from the red dirt that surrounded the dwelling. So a new life in America seemed like a wonderful new life. Now the mom and kids are but a week away from being homeless.

These realities come with several long stories complicated by government systems, mistranslation, a hard winter, little understanding of the USA, and just life. I have no desire to go into these situations for the wrongs and rights, blessings and disappointments, joys and heartaches are too numerous to explain. The fact remains that this family’s life is broken and most tragically by not knowing where they will lay their head come June.

But don’t worry- here I come to save the day. SPLAT!

As a pro-active, driven, solution oriented person all I want to do is fix this circumstance. The family needs a new apartment? Here’s an application. Oh, she needs a reference? Let me send that to her work. A co-signer is necessary? With the ability to back her financially? With a mortgage? Um…I. I. Let me think.
And HERE is where I remain, thinking. I cannot afford to be her co-signer. I cannot move her into my place. I cannot even guarantee another place for her to live in six days. I cannot.

So even though my skills of networking, problem solving, and providing remedies seemed so necessary and sufficient, I know now what my roommate was saying. These talents distracted me from seeking out and relying on God. Instead I began to worship an idol of power and call on the name of organizational crisis management to rule over this issue.

God has to be in control. I can do what I can, but I cannot be God. He will fix or mold or handle this situation. I can be obedient, but I cannot decide for God. He will not grow weary of details or negate his promises. I can be bold, but I cannot be the strength of God.

God created the earth in six days and he didn’t call me for floor plans, operations management, and strategy consulting or even to fill up his coffee cup. Thus I’m letting God’s talents, untouched or obstructed by Satan, bring about utter goodness.

And I’ll use my talents to follow his lead.

The importance of seeing the Sunrise

I wasn’t under any obligation and received no other incentive beyond spending 30 minutes of a very early morning with a friend on the way to the airport.
But then the sun rose.

Seeing the sunrise post-daylight savings time in Spokane is a unique experience. At 5:03am the sherbet colors of pink and orange hues from morning light crept up on the horizon as I drove east on I-90. The few clouds floated with their blue cotton candy fluff. I felt like I arrived at a wonderful birthday party and my sweet-tooth found satisfaction.

The rest of Monday was marvelous: productive, fulfilling and thought provoking. Thus I am left to muse:
1) Is a 4:03 wake up time the answer?
2) How crucial is it to experience the sunrise?
3) What can I do to make everyday start out with a selfless act?
4) Can I remember that God offers is smile and sweetness all the daylong?

Just like the morning sun, I am realizing gradually that my growth and beauty and deep love for the world, which can shine as bright as the rays, comes day after day.

no broken bones

When I was 11 years old remember distinctly wishing to break a leg. To break it for one day. I wanted to experience the pain, the crutches, the extra “get better soon” popsicles and ice cream and the test of maneuvering through school. As I had only had stitches once and no other major hospital visits, I desired the extreme. The extreme of senses and pain, emotion, challenge and in all honesty, attention. Now as a wise old woman (ha!) I realize everyday how lucky I am to be whole, at least with two unbroken legs.

Yet, as a wise old woman I still have childish fancies. I seek extremes in different areas of life. And like that of a broken leg, the extremes are those I’ve seen or heard about happening to other people. When I went to Africa, I so appreciated visiting the village and kind of wanted to stay there overnight. Never before had I been in a place or position of such humility and poverty. When my friend worked as a “sound gal” for a Tony Award winning Broadway musical, I wanted to experience the adrenaline rush of tech rehearsal, post show excitement and drinks, and the feeling of pure genius. And when my closest friends and family are sick or sad in a way that I can’t do anything but stand by, I instead want to feel the extremes of their pain and sorrow, if nothing else but to empathize with experiential clarity.

This thought process is probably the most unproductive wishing though, because not only would my life be completely altered by these circumstances, and not for just one day, but my role as I am meant to play (and am playing) would be lost. What good is a crippled friend to another crippled friend if they need to get somewhere? What good is another tech person when the show needs an amazed audience member? What good is extra heartache in comparison to the dry and waiting shoulder?

This life has offered me a great many opportunities to live out extremes of emotion, senses, excitement, desire, fear, and hope. I’m utterly grateful for these experiences and the ability to embrace them in their proper time. So as the weeks move beyond days of celebrations, heartache, suspension, limbo and the extremes that others knew, I’m praying that I can content myself with my wholeness as is. May I better grasp how that wholeness is a gift to connect me to others instead of the sign of empty empathy.

his enduring way

Ernest Shackleton gave his life to the exploration, to the craft and most significantly to his men. This Antarctic explorer from the early 20th century led various adventures to the frozen continent, only to be faced with seemingly insurmountable obstacles. And yet throughout it all, his responsibility to his crew drove him to every extreme that earned him great respect, loyalty and deep devotion.
I finished a book about his leadership called Shackleton’s Way. It’s an incredible collection of stories summarized the key elements of his leadership style and skills. I highly recommend it.

As I read the tale and reflected on many of my own actions as a leader or follower but certainly as one who could learn a few life lessons from this great man. One of his qualities that I admire and can relate to is his dedication to his people. From the first to the last moments of a treacherous expedition, his devotion to his people and sincere desire to see them safe and happy at all times gave him the motivation to stay alive and push forward. Those tasks may seem simple, it meant not sleeping for days on end, trekking up and down cliffs for 36 hours straight, and sacrificing and replacing any complaint to an optimistic and encouraging word. In order to keep this countenance he relied a great deal on his faith and on the words of poets and great writers such as Dickens, Shakespeare and Robert Browning. The authors commented that rather than focus on the annoying/aggravating/debilitating issues facing him, he would instead focus his attention on big ideas such as life, love, camaraderie and choice.

This notion both convicted me and inspired me. How often I seek consolation from a willing ear to hear a silly grievance or internally brood over something I deem as a slight or worse? And yet, I have so much to be thankful for. I have been blessed so much. And with most of these simple aggravations of mine, they will pass and be forgotten.

Shackleton sought companionship, honesty, and laughter. He gave out these qualities from his natural personality, his sense of responsibility and joy. May we continue to grow in our ability to give abundantly, request with fairness, and leave the past mistakes behind.