In a few hours I'll be 40. I had hoped to be graceful about it. I appear to be less and less graceful as the minutes tick by. I am not sure why I care - 39 was a less than stellar year and I am more than fine leaving it in my dust. And everyone says 40 is the new 30. I'm just not feelin' it.
So to distract myself, here are my favorite ages from the past 4 decades...one from each decade...
Age 3: By all accounts from others, I was pretty stinkin' cute at age 3. I remember actually being baptized (we moved a month before I was born...it took a while to find and get in the groove of a church..I walked up to the font on my own two feet.). And I was still small enough to crawl in my daddy's lap while he sat in his big black recliner. There was no problem so big that was not fixed by some time in the chair.
Age 17: this covers most of Senior year of high school - an incredible year all around spent with great people, memories of which still make me chuckle out loud. Perhaps too loud, LOL!. Not yet a legal adult - so almost free but not totally responsible for myself. Excited and optimistic for the future. Really - I felt fairly invincible. Except for that time I wrecked my car....time in the chair could not fix that one.
Age 26: ah, the honeymoon phase...literally. Living as newly weds with my best friend, an incredible man who still puts up with me after 15 years of wedded bliss (in 4 days). To think that was still only the beginning of our journey! We came home from work to our little apartment and took "news naps" before leisurely making dinner. How? No Kim or Nic yet. Not yet bearing the responsibility of another human life. Totally absorbed in us and our dreams.
Age 37: an odd assortment of reasons why this age stands out for me - survival of a stressful time where we came out stronger than we went in; in the best physical shape of my life (even ran a half marathon); a time of incredible spiritual growth. Past the stage of babies and toddlers (which I loved and wouldn't trade for anything - but it's down right exhausting). Everything just clicked. It was a time for new dreams - but not yet feeling that it was so urgent to achieve them.
So, here we are. Forty Schmorty. Perhaps it's not bad to be a bit reflective. I have lived an incredibly blessed existence. It has not been without challenges, but they have formed me and strengthened my faith each step of the way. Which, I guess, is why as much as 40 makes me sigh tonight, I will go on faith that I''ll wake up tomorrow ready to make it the best decade yet! Bring it on!
Of all of our body parts that we can boast or complain about, I don't think I have ever heard any say,
"I LOVE my feet - wanna take a look??"
More often than not, we are trying to do what we can to cover them up, or in the warmer months, disguising them in color so as to avert any eyes from noticing the details. But, its just those details that I am pondering today.
You might say I've had a foot fetish the past couple weeks. It all started with the story of Mary anointing Jesus' feet with extravagant scent, and washing his feet with her hair. I have taught this story many times to many ages. My classes have made "nard", smelled all kinds of things, talked about noses, etc. We have joked about stinky feet. My favorite was when boys donned a Hannah Montana wig and acted out the scene. It's a great story of love.
Now here we are at Maundy Thursday - a day to celebrate the Last Supper..but also that moment when Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. Such a simple act with such a powerful message.
Here's the thing I can't seem to stop thinking about. When you wash someone's feet, you HAVE to get up close. You see the details. The washer has to either bend over to reach, and come face-to-toe. Or, the washer might lift a foot off the ground and hold it in a lap? The logistics may vary, but there is no avoiding the fact that you WILL see the foot and every blemish and bunion on it. It is a very intimate act.
Today, I was able to participate in a prayer service where over 500 students, teachers, staff and parents took turns washing and drying each others' hands (logistics being what they are, feet are hard to do in that great a number). I stood back for a bit just watching, and even with just hands you can see the emotions that folks experience submitting to others for this humble act. Some folks were just plain uncomfortable having others do unto them.
Cause, it's not just about the "footwasher" and the show of love that it represents. As the receiver of that cleansing, you make yourself vulnerable. You let someone else see the details. Jesus told his disciples that as he washed their feet, so they need to wash each others' feet. And we as Christians are called to do the same. This requires actions on both the giver and the receiver. As receivers, we need to allow ourselves to become vulnerable; to let others' see our details. And as foot washers, we need to respect those that offer their feet to us, and accept them and love them - bunions and all.
I don't think I have ever experienced a foot washing service in a church as part of worship, even as merely a dramatic demonstration. I imagine logistically it can get messy. Funny - my pastor last week referenced that we don't like some of the "messiness" of Holy Week. He mostly meant the blood and gore of the crucifixion I think...but maybe the "messiness" of stinky feet is something else we just don't want to deal with??
Wishing everyone a blessed experience on this Holy Week journey.
So - first a confession…I almost didn't go to church today. I was going to go for Sunday School and scoot home after. I was tired, had no other duties, and knew I'd be going to Sunday evening mass with the rest of the family. But the truth is, I just was not in a Palm Sunday mood and felt I'd be a drag.
It's been a time when I find myself overwhelmed by the extreme trials of emotion and illness so many dear to me are experiencing. Just this coming week alone I know several people who have to go through treatments that will leave them physically in quarantine. Some unable to even be in the same room as their spouses and children for days. And this, the holiest week of the year for Christians. And yet, so many people made to be alone.
So, I had a heavy heart this morning - though I always try to have a happy face. And then, God began to do his work…
There was the church member who I saw go out of her way to welcome an obvious visitor who felt a bit uncomfortable - meeting a family member who had not yet arrived. My heart warmed at the reminder of how our church really does its best to welcome all in our midst - whether for a day or a "season". We are not perfect, but we try.
The 5 year old girl who admitted "she might be a little shy" when it was time to sing up front…though she has never been shy a day in her life.
The parent who expressed gratitude for Sunday School and how much his child enjoys it.
The boy who reminded us that we need to bring our disco balls if we are really going to have a fun party.
The little girl who wanted to be by her brother's side and was an impromptu new member of the choir, and then continued to dance in the aisle for the remainder of the service. Her mother worried about her being a distraction, but I saw the smiles she brought to all her watched her.
The choir director who found a way to include a young boy in the morning's musical offering, even though he'd missed the practices...and the adult who sat next to him and helped him through the service…so that his parents could continue their service in the back hall way preparing the Easter food baskets that would be delivered to families in need.
The pastor got all "crazy" throwing palms around and making a mess. He made us normally "composed" Presbyterians get all goofy waving our palms and making a joyful noise. He also talked about next Saturday - that day when we are not sure what to feel. I thought that maybe those folks who are suffering so much now probably feel like every day is Saturday. It seems so dark with no hope. I am comforted that many of the people suffering are faithful Christians, and I pray they will hold onto to hope of Easter like never before. And I pray even harder for those who don't yet realize that this hope IS there, and that they realize, as my pastor said (slightly paraphrased), "God doesn't leave you at Saturday."
There are two kinds of Jersey Shore girls…the kind who work as life guards in the summer and the ones who lay on the beach and only get wet when the sand gets too hot. I would be more the second type. I don't like to swim. At least not for exercise. So, no one is more surprised than I am at the recent turn of events.
I had to get in the water if I wanted to get back to what I REALLY wanted to do. Running. SO, I obediently went to water PT for weeks during the winter. I didn't trust myself to show restraint once I was released from the surgeon to resume all activities (and frankly, neither did my family). So, I had a friend show me deep water running. In the pool. Where the goal is to not actually GO anywhere. But it was a way to get back to running, without actually running.
Then, one day I was stuck in a lane where I could not "run". SO, I swam. 10 whole laps! I could not move my arms the next day. The swimming thing was SO not for me. But I needed to keep doing it, in order to get back to what I really loved - running.
The next week I did 24 laps and did not bother with "running". 2/3 mile. I was not even sore the next day.
Today I did 36 laps. A whole mile. Imperfect, ungraceful. Using only the arms and legs God gave me. What is going on??? I hate swimming - I am a runner!
Swimming is different from running. No music (water proof wireless headphones???). You have to create your own rhythm. You have to sync your breathing so you don't gulp mouthfuls of water - and you NEED to breathe and fill those lungs or you will run out of steam. It's also quiet - like in the "I can hear the inside of my brain" kind of quiet. For a while, you are so focused on breathing at the right time, you don't think about anything else. But funny - after 20 laps or so, you are in a rhythm, and you don't have to focus on breathing as much. It all just sort of works. You can teach an old body new tricks!
And then today it hit me - right there in the pool. This is just like our Christian journey. We start off, and at first are focused on the basics - just get to church, get familiar with the bible, find time to pray. We practice at this - and in time hopefully it becomes part of our lives that we don't have to think about. And then we add to it. Bible study, service, deeper prayer. Each time a new layer that we have to get used to, but that over time becomes part of our personal rhythm.
But we can get in a rut. We think we are doing enough. We want to go back to the things we know, that we do well. Like running. Then what?
Here is what I don't like about the pool: I don't know what I'm doing; it makes me uncomfortable. I feel like I am making a fool of myself, but I do it anyway.
And today, it renewed my energy. It gave me peace. And it gave me affirmation that some times the thing we need to do is just the thing that we think we have no idea how to do, the thing that makes us uncomfortable, the thing that makes us look like fools - but we do it anyway. Kind of like our Christian journey - we might not know what we are doing; it can be uncomfortable; we might look like fools. But we know we need to do it anyway.
I got in the pool cause I wanted to get back to running. And now I can't wait to go back to the pool.
"The human mind may devise many plans, but it is the
purpose of the Lord that will be established." (Proverbs 19:21)
Thursday, March 14, 2013
My facebook has been all lit up with a bunch of folks running long distances this weekend. I can't believe it was only 2 years ago I was off to VA beach to run my first half marathon (yes, I intend to do at least one more). I just wanted to finish and have a decent experience. Little did I know what God had in store!! That race marked a new turn in a wonderfully bizarre spiritual journey that has yet to play out. I am just getting back into running after surgery and recovery - so while I'll not be on the road in person this year, I'll be there in spirit. Below is my experience from my race 2 years ago, plus one of my favorite inspirational running songs.
The Race
So many of you asked about how the race went – and it was so awesome there is no one word answer! So, here is a bit of my 13.1 mile experience:
Early Start: I woke at 1:45am and never got back to sleep. Nervous, me??? Yikes! Good thing I napped Saturday. I got all the last minute race essentials in place and brewed the in-hotel room coffee (but only 1 cup – not good to OD on coffee unless you want to visit the port-o-john mid race!).
Headed out: I left the hotel about 5:30am in the dark to walk the mile or so to the race check in. Yikes it was WINDY – like 20+ mph. My shamrock headband flew off my head and was promptly stashed in my bag till race start.
Ready to race: The American Cancer Society DNation team had their own tent to collect our bags with “dry gear” (anything you don’t want to carry in your hands during the race, then they bring it to the finish line for you to get afterwards). We took a group picture and headed to the race start!
RUN: The first 3 miles were pretty easy – I went out fast but not too fast. Got in a good groove, sun was finally up, wind was dying down, everyone was happy. Frankly, running folks are just so darn nice. It was early (7am race start) so not so many spectators, but there were some – including folks handing out beer to runners as they passed by (I did not partake at this point…made me ill to think about it actually).
By Mile 4, I was on a total runner’s high – I totally rocked miles 4-8. The play list was just right, there were bands on the sidelines to keep us going. I ran negative splits for 5 miles – this means that I got faster with every additional mile. This was “God moment” #1. I NEVER run negative splits. NEVER. By the end of Mile 8, I was running an 11 ½ minute mile pace – this is slow for many, but is practically a sprint in my world. I was on pace to finish in under 2 ½ hours AND beat the time challenge from one of the survivors I was running for. I was motivated for many miles at the thought of calling him up and telling him “I did it!”.
Mile 9 – At this point we were back into the wind by the coastline. I started to slow down, but was still doing pretty well. I had made a bib to wear on the back of my shirt called “Survivors and Saints” – with all the initials of the many folks I was running for. I got a lot of comments from the people passing me on my shirt (yes, a lot of people passed me but I guess its OK since they saw the shirt!). I thought a lot about how lucky I was to even be in that race. I thought a lot about how just 2 years ago I never would have thought it was possible.
Mile 10 – Started to feel it in the knees. God moment #2 – “Run” by After the Chase came up on the play list – it is based on Isaiah 40:31. I think I played it on repeat for the entire duration of Mile 10. Truly, the only way my feet kept moving was God watching over me and putting little wings on my feet. But I was slowing down.
Mile 11 – God moment #3 – and this is what did me in as far as meeting any time goal. I got another comment on my shirt. I grunted in appreciation. Then I got asked a question if I had cancer. SO, I grunt no as answer to her question. [For the record, I DO NOT talk when I run. I am the most unsocial runner ever. Really, I can’t run and talk at the same time. I talk too fast that it uses all my air for running!]. Then she starts to pass me and I hear her say she has cancer and then I see the bulge of her PICC line (the permanent IV line where you receive chemo usually). My heart stops. My feet barely manage a shuffle at this point as I am overwhelmed with emotion remembering exactly what that PICC line means – even the grind of flushing the line, and cleaning to prevent infection. So much hope lies in that plastic tubing and I was SO thankful not to be a part of that world any more. Trying desperately to compose myself so I can keep running, we run side by side for the briefest bit. We chat as easily as one can when we each have music blaring in our ears. She has lymphoma. I tell her my husband was sick, she asks what kind. She thought he was still sick – I felt an insane amount of guilt when I said he was 2 years cancer free. I never did get her name. She said “thanks for caring.” Then I slowed down more and she pull away.
She changed the entire perspective of that race for me. I pretty much walked the rest of the race trying not to cry like a baby the entire time. I saw all the folks who passed me and just took it all in. It was one of those rare moments when God is so present and you actually realize it WHILE it’s happening and not just after it’s all over. I crossed the finish line physically exhausted (this was expected), emotionally drained (much more so than I thought I’d be), and spiritually fulfilled (more than I ever thought possible).
She said "I dont have a name". That was her response when I asked so I could pray for her. Maybe she just didn't want to tell me, but something about the way she said it made me feel like she really didn't think she had a name.
We had spent about 45 minutes talking about all kinds of things. Global warming. Movies. Travel. Music. Life in California. When she had a job. And a place to live.
She was a guest at the FACETS hypothermia prevention site. A service for homeless persons, to give them a meal and a place to sleep out of the cold weather. Different churches rotate serving as hosts and providing the meals. We were there as volunteers to help prepare and serve the meal. But we were also encouraged to eat WITH the guests, and where a door was open, to engage them in conversation.
The evening had an auspicious start. Two of us volunteers sat down, and almost right away two guests got up to go outside for a smoke. The woman at the end of the table did not seem interested in talking. So, my fellow volunteer and I talked mostly among ourselves.
Then, we heard her ask, "Does anyone know if they are doing a bible study this week? I heard they do a bible study. I like bible study. Sometimes people say things you would never think of yourself. And they read a passage - usually a positive one." There was never a more open door to start a conversation!
Just a few weeks earlier, my family was leaving Christmas Eve mass and encountered a couple with sign asking for money, because they had a baby to take care of. There they were. Right on the church sidewalk. As hundreds of people streamed out of church on one of the most holy nights of the year. Anxiety and discomfort kicked in. Heart strings tugged, and an old familiar cynicism lingered on the fringe. It's these moments when I really don't like me. What did we do? Nothing. In the car Greg and I sheepishly looked at each other with guilt reflected in each others' eyes. We admit we never know what to do or say in that kind of siutation. It happened again on New Year's Day. Same couple. I looked in my purse and realized I did not even have one dollar on me.
I have written about my experience with homeless people before. I still vividly remember the man on the corner and the woman with the cats. I still pray for them. And I think I have learned from them. I obviously still have a lot to learn. Last night I was given a chance to learn a little bit more.
Why does it seem so hard to figure out what to say in these situations? While I listened to the woman talk last night, I felt a bit uncomfortable. I was so self conscience of saying the wrong thing. If I offered a comment that provided a glimpse into my own life, would it make her feel worse about her current condition? As the minutes went buy, I realized that I did not need to be so concerned about this. She was well read and aware of current events. While it was obvious that she had some challenges mentally, I had no idea the cause or what got her to this place, and it didn't seem necessary to ask. And maybe that's the thing. This group was not hard core homeless, who have been on the street for years. They were in the heart of Fairfax County, VA - one of the richest counties in the nation. And they could be ANY one of us, who get caught in a bad place, and find themselves unable to get out. Maybe that's why we don't know what to say. We are afraid to admit that a few wrong turns could land us in the same spot?
"What I miss most is just relaxing on the couch in front of the TV". Such a simple thing, that most us of take for granted. I love relaxing in front of the TV. This woman was no different. In the end, we are no different.
I might not know her name, but as opposed to my previous experiences, at least this time I did ask. And, by the end of the night, I felt much more comfortable talking with this group that had gathered. I am still not sure what I will do the next time I am confronted with a homeless person. But I am hopeful that after last night, next time it might be just a bit easier to do SOMETHING. So that all those who feel nameless would realize that in Christ, we all have an identity and are called by name.
It should have been me saying those words. After all, it was a friend who had stuck her arm through my car window to help me get off my coat. [One of the "twisty" things I am still unable to do post-surgery).
She was thanking me for letting her help me. Sigh. That has stuck in my head this entire holiday season. No one wants to need help from others. When we do, we hope we accept it gracefully.
It is certainly no accident that I've spent the last 6 weeks learning how to receive gracefully - especially these last three weeks during Advent, when we are to be preparing and making room for the ultimate gift in the form of a baby. A free gift to us, if we are just willing to receive it.
How many of us will be stubborn and think we don't need it? How many of us continue to function as if we can do it all ourselves?
I read this last night - and it reinforced the lessons of the past few weeks...
"You can not receive a gift unless you have a place for it in your life. You cannot learn anything if you think you know it all. You cannot receive love unless you know there is a place in you that is empty and needs love to fill it." (John Buchanan, Christian Century)
Who can't use a little more love in their world???
So, my Christmas wish for us all of us that we make room for the gift of love, that is given to us freely if we just accept it.
May you all have a blessed Christmas season and joyous New Year!
