It's worth it

My friend e-mailed this week to see if I wanted to run at 7:00 on Saturday morning. That's 7am on a cold November Saturday. Think, "Kids are not going to school, I would not otherwise have to be out of bed by 7 in the morning." I had visions of cold ears, runny nose, and of getting out of my cozy warm bed much earlier than I preferred.

I e-mailed back and suggested coffee - it sounded so much better for an early Saturday morning outing.

She e-mailed again and said I shouldn't tempt her and that she would pick me up at 7:00.

Last night was a bear. We have rodents of unusual size (ROUS's - what movie is that from?!) in the small attic above our bedroom, and I think they were having a picnic on Jeff's mouse bait last night. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that there was some rodent band playing country music for all the square dancing rodents of the neighborhood. My only consolation is that they will eventually die and never come back if they continue to picnic on the bait in the attic above my bed.

Then at 4:20ish I was summoned by one of the boys who needed attention. This summons was actually a bigger deal than most middle of the night summons, and I wasn't back to bed for about 30 minutes. If you do the math, that puts me back to bed at 5:00ish, just one hour before I needed to wake up for the aforementioned early morning run. Thankfully, the rodent band had wrapped up and gone home for the night and the dancers were keeping it to a dull roar - so I was able to sleep for an hour.

The alarm at 6:00 has rarely been more uninviting than it was this morning. I was tempted to get out of bed only long enough to text my friend and say, "Rough night, see you next time." But the truth is I was awake and I knew it would be good for me. Good to connect with this friend and good to get exercise. So I only hit the snooze twice and then dragged myself out of bed and into my frigid bathroom to change into running gear. This was not my favorite part of the day.

When I was 12, I could go run a mile without any warm up or stretching. The coach made us stretch, but it never made much sense to me. Young muscles are so forgiving. 38 year old muscles, I'm learning, are not quite as forgiving. If I'm not going to be sore for the 24 hours following a run, I must stretch out first. This morning was no exception. I took my devotional book to my angled stretching board (for my calves) and read as I loosened up. By the time I was done with 15 minutes of reading and stretching, I actually was beginning to feel positive about this early morning outing.

My friend arrived just after 7 and we were off. We put on our gloves, started the mileage watch and took off. We avoided one flooded path, waded through another, and ran about 3 miles - all the while talking through one of life's mysteries. You'll be happy to know that we solved it. It was a good morning's work.

As I hopped out of her car and headed into the house to face whatever I might find there, I discovered I was glad I had gone. I felt great and had truly enjoyed all aspect of the adventure (though my shoes are still laying in front of the heater to dry out.) Though it had not seemed very inviting, it was worth it.

Wonder what else we avoid, procrastinate, or escape from that would truly be worth it if we just did it?

The Woods

Woods always look darker from the outside. Have you ever noticed that? Running the other night at dusk through Bush Park, I became concerned that between me and home was a section of dark looming trees, right along the creek. Usually I love this stretch of path because it offers shade and beauty, but this night it caused me a moment's concern as I glanced ahead and noticed how much darker it seemed ahead.

Rationalizing that it was only 5:15 pm, and there were several other walkers and joggers along the path, I decided it would not be unsafe to proceed, and so lost myself in my running thoughts once again. I was about halfway through the wooded part when I realized how much light was coming through the trees. It was truly a dusky kind of beautiful in there.

It reminded me of the days when I was a camp counselor leading the nature hike and Canyonview Camp. We had a beautiful path that led from the creek at the bottom of the canyon, up a steep wooded hillside, opening into a gorgeous meadow (with the best wild blackberry patch on the planet.) As we climbed into the open meadow, we could see the forest on the far side. It always looked so foreboding from the outside. A tall, dark, wall of fir trees that seemed to be solid from end to end. One could only imagine that the inside of the forest was just as thick and dark.

However, when me and my troops of little bodies followed the path into the woods with our blackberry-stained mouths. We found exactly the opposite of thick and dark. With little sunlight to spur growth on the interior, the only parts of the trees that grew thickly were the very tops and the sides which seemed foreboding from the outside. Inside, this created a vaulted ceiling affect. As if a person were walking through a natural cathedral. Sunlight streaming in through the high branches and creating patches of light in pools all around. The delicate fronds of fern inviting passers-by to look closer, explore, discover.

The forest at camp was one of my very favorite spots on this planet, and running through Bush Park at dusk the other night reminded me of one of my favorite life-lessons: The woods always look darker from the outside.

What woods are you concerned about today? Is there a season approaching, or a situation looming, that sparks fear of thick darkness? Are you concerned that passing through may not be altogether "safe"? Take heart, when once you begin down the path, you may find it to have unexpected patches of light, places of beauty, joy and discovery - that can only be found by having the courage to walk through the wall of tall, dark firs, and finding within a hushed and holy place for your soul, even in the midst of shadows.

Mile 11

My younger, stronger, in-better-shape running partner had ambitious goals for the day. This was her third half-marathon and she was looking to better her already good time. I decided to go for it and try to stick with her. We had a great run for 9 1/2 miles. The pace was good, the view was gorgeous and the company was superb. Great running conversation! But by the middle of mile 9 I could no longer ignore the growing pain in my calves as they clamped tighter and tighter with each step. Nor could I ignore the obvious need for a bathroom pit-stop.

Telling my friend that I was going to ease up a bit took me about a mile. In no way did I want to beat her, but competitive blood flows through my veins, and letting her go went against all my gut instincts, even if it was in line with my better judgement. I argued with myself for a mile and finally, somewhere in mile 10, necessity overpowered pride and I slowed my pace to better match my waning strength, giving her freedom to run ahead and make her goal for the race.

After my much needed pit-stop, I stretched my calves a bit, downed a cup of water, and resumed running for the last 2 miles. It was in this mile, mile 11, that I began to feel the real struggle to keep going. There were women with shirts that said, "Courage to start, faith to finish," and I was in need of faith as I panted up the long, long hill. My legs hurt, with every step, and though I was able to continue putting one foot in front of the other, my brain was so very aware of each individual step.

It was about then that I happened to glance up and see how beautiful the blue sky was. And as I ran and gazed above, an incredible thing happened, for four or five seconds I forgot that my legs hurt. So I tried it again, careful to look where I was going so I didn't trip, gazing at the green trees and blue sky and noting what a fantastic day it was. And each time I lifted my gaze the weariness and pain I had been so acutely aware of for several miles would dim, fading into the background.

And so it was in mile 11 God gently reminded me that life is like that. There are hills, and pit-stops, and the need to let companions go their own way and pace. There are circumstances that leave us alone, exhausted and in pain, and yet we keep going. And if we look at our circumstances, examine our pain or focus on how alone we are, these seasons can be excruciating. But if we lift our eyes to something beautiful, get our gaze off of the pit we're in, we can, even if it's just for a moment, feel less pain and loneliness.

In the gaze of grace, we assist in our own healing process - lifting our eyes from the trouble to the Redeemer, from the pain to the Healer, from our thirst to the Source of Living Water. It was in mile 11 that God gently suggested that I take time each morning to focus on who He is, anchoring myself in His nature and character every day. For when I truly gaze on God, everything else pales in comparison and falls into place.

So God, today I gaze on You, my creator, who - by the power of Your Word - made all things, and entrust my shadowlands to you.

Running Again - Conclusion

And now it's time for a true confession. This confession comes harder to me than most. I was so sure that it would be different this time. . . but I think I need to start at the beginning.

Back in April when I was first starting my "fast" I had dinner with a good friend. We were talking about life and I was telling her about what God was leading me to do. She knew of the earlier part of the journey - when I discovered I didn't know how to rest, and God promised me, "The Lord will fight for you, you need only to be still." She knew that I had been enveloped in God's love, not because I was worthy, but because He loves me. Period. But this whole fasting idea was new and we had a long conversation about it.

As we were wrapping up, she said, "How are you going to keep from just going back to your bad habits when your fast is over." I answered that I honestly didn't know. That it was definitely a pattern for me to try hard for awhile and then fail. However, I also had a sense that since God was leading me from a different direction this time, perhaps it might have a different outcome. Perhaps I could see true and lasting change if I truly grasped how much God loves me and what it means to rest in Him, abide in Him, daily.

Oh, this is such a long story and I'm struggling to know how to sum it up in a blog post. How does a person delve into the deep parts of the heart on a computer screen? Should a blogger even try? Forgive me if this is more than you bargained for - feel free to skip this one and come back for the next post about the corn maze or my cute kids. But for you who want to hang in there and here this running story to the conclusion, you may have to wade through some of the meandering ways of my mind and heart. :)

So I ended my fast in May, and life was at such a high point. My heart was at peace with God, my family and myself. I was truly filled with joy. Life felt productive, restful, good. And then summer hit. I tried to hold on for awhile, and truly, even in June there were many good days. But the true confession is that in many ways I feel like I'm right back where I started. Case in point, I'm typing on my computer at 11:24pm when I have to be up at 5:45 in the morning. I check facebook numerous times a day. I read other blogs incessantly, checking multiple times a day to see if there is something new to read. I waste time while my house is a mess, the checkbook needs to be balanced, and my kids are growing up under my nose - a day older every day - and I'm missing it from behind the computer screen.

I'm back with the apostle Paul, not doing what I want to do, and doing what I don't want to do. And I feel stuck, like perhaps my good friend was more right than I was - that maybe we always revert to our old habits. Or at least I don't know how to ever go about change without my soul all tied up in knots of wondering whether I'm doing it right or not.

And though I feel stuck in so many areas, the fact remains that I'm running. Three times a week, adding miles every now and then, racing for the first time in 15 years. . . .I'm running.

And that's the amazing, hope-giving, truth. And here's the point of the whole 3-blog-post story: I had given up hope of ever running again, and yet I run. So when I'm tempted to despair that there will never be any lasting change in other areas I'm stuck, I have this three-day-a-week new habit that laughs in the face of despair and says, "If I can do it, you can do it."

If God can make the lifestyle changes in me necessary to allow this body to run again, when I had been stuck for so long in bad habits and season of life hindrances, then God is not powerless against my other bad life-practices. Yes, I have regressed, but no, all is not lost.

So, I guess this post is both a confession and a celebration. My confession is that I'm not doing so great in all my pre-posted thriving, and my celebration is that it's not all lost, there are good things that have come out of that season and stuck.

And for that I'm grateful. And I run. Because I can. Because God answered the prayer of my heart.

The prayer I breathed this morning? "God, I'm done living my way. I want your way."

Running Again - Part 2

(Find the prequel here)

I had been so stuck that I had begun to lose hope that running, or any athletic activity for that matter, could have a place in my future. Last summer I was riding a four wheeler at the pumpkin patch with no helmet (I know, that's bad) and I could feel the wind in my hair. I remember chuckling to myself and thinking, "Well, even if I never run fast again, at least I know how to get this fast feeling again."

I also remember asking God if I could run in heaven. If I could just run for ever and a day, over fields and mountains, and never hurt.

Then one day last December God pointed out to me that I didn't know how to rest. I know, running and rest seem fairly unrelated, but stick with me here. As I went on the journey that has been well-documented on this blog, I began to make changes in my lifestyle. Not because I was trying harder and setting firmer goals, but because I was choosing to wait in God, and He was giving me direction one step at a time. And one step at a time, I began to change. In a season of fasting from all the things I turn to for escape when I'm tired, frustrated, confused, weary. . . Fasting from distractions in order to pursue the Lord with my whole heart.

In that season, as you well know if you've been a reader for the past 6 months, I discovered that I used food as an emotional outlet. When I quit turning to food to cheer me up, I began to shed a few unwanted pounds. When I shed a few pounds, I felt better. I began to get out for walks more often. And on one of my walks, I jogged a block or two. And it didn't hurt.

For the first time in several years, it didn't hurt. So I did it again a few days later. Then I got serious, went to the running store and got myself some real running shoes so I didn't injure myself. And one day when I was out running, just after complaining to God about the difficulty of the season of pruning He had me in, I realized that it was the very pruning I resisted that enabled me to do what I desired to do.

Let me say that again: It was the very pruning I was resisting that enabled me to do what I desired to do.

Running, which continues to be a healthy outlet for me, was given to me as a gift by my Father God who heard my prayer, barely breathed, "God, I want to run."

To be concluded soon. . .

The Race

I was nervous. There were so many conflicting thoughts and concerns in my head.

1) I've never been to this race before, don't know how it all works. Will I be there early enough? (turns out I was like the 2nd to register and had a whole hour to pretend to warm up) Will I know where to go?

2) I haven't raced in 15 years and I don't remember how to warm up. Peering out of the corner of my eye at what other people are doing and copying them.

3) Wanting to be as anonymous as possible because I have NO idea how this will go, and running into my junior high track coach who still remembers the 12 year old who could run 800 meters faster than any other 12 year old girl in the state. (He beat my, by the way, in the 3ooo last night)

4) Reminding myself that I'm just in this for fun - "It's a new stage in life, you're doing this different this time, it doesn't have to be so competitive" - and yet feeling those old pre-race jitters in my head, heart and stomach. Seriously, if I don't care how this goes, then why am I nervous about all the young people sprinting all over this field?!

5) Praying a simple prayer, "God, let this be fun and help me do it different."

All this was before the race even started. As the bull horn went off and the pack took off, I settled back in the back into my 8 minute mile pace, quickly realizing that most everyone else was after a faster pace than that. No problem, I think, I'll just do my pace and some of them will drop off as we go.

Fast forward half the race. I'm feeling it in my legs - they are rebuking me sternly for the 5 mile run on Tuesday, the water skiing on Wednesday and now this. My lungs are keeping up - but working hard. No one is dropping off and I'm falling farther and farther behind the 20-something in green who I had hoped to stay close to.

That's when it happened. God gave me my gift. I had just passed a trio of runners who were distinctly unique. There was a young man and woman encouraging a girl in between them to keep going. She was hurting and struggling. The conversation went something like this:

"It HURRRRTS."

"I know, you can do it."

"This is HARRRD."

"You're doing fine."

"It's HHHHHOT"

" Let's pass 7 people, can you do it?"

"I'll try."

They picked up their pace enough to pass me. I decided to engage in their world and offer some words of encouragement. Just after they got past me she triumphantly stated, "ONE!" But it was as far as she got - settling into a burdened rhythm just in front of me. She, voicing her pain and trial, they, seeking to be positive and help her on to the finish.

We were just starting up the Derby Hill for the last push of the race. I don't remember what I said, but I engaged with her up the hill. In fact, I started to pass her and something inside her rose up as if to say, "I'm not going to get passed by the only person I was able to pass!" So I slowed my uphill pace a bit and matched her stride for stride to the top of the hill.

I pulled ahead as I saw the end in sight and heard her pre-puking behind me. Her sister, as I later found out was her companion, passed me with a 1/4 mile to go, thanking me for the encouragement, and finished the race 30 yards ahead of me. When I crossed the finish line, I was given a popsicle stick with the number 72, and ushered to a table where I was asked how old I was and what my name was. It was encouraging to see that less than a dozen of the racers were women in my "over 30" age bracket. Made me feel better about being in the back half of the back of the pack. :)

So what was the "gift" in this experience? Oh my goodness, it was such a flashback to my past! Coaches yelling from the sidelines, "You know who you need to beat." "Pass five people in this straight stretch." "Pick it up now." And then the poor puking girl. I have no doubt that her friends wanted to help her, but why in the world was she out there dying? And as I ran I was so glad it wasn't me. I was slow, but I wasn't in pain. I wasn't struggling for each step. I have run races where I felt like her, but this was not one of them. We were at the same race-pace, but not at the same life-place.

I remember well the days of goals and pace setting and trying to pass 7 people, and I don't want that anymore. I run because I can. Because after 15 years of working, having babies, eating too many donuts and struggling with any kind of exercise, my legs still work, my lung capacity is increasing, and I CAN. That's it. Period. I can. Someone asked me at the end of the race how it went, and my honest, heart-felt answer was, "I ran, and I finished, it was great."

Let's be clear, I'd like to run faster next Thursday than I ran this Thursday. I was mildly disappointed that my newly rediscovered strength put in such a poor showing compared to the young cross-country training kids out there. However, increasingly it's less about comparing myself to other people and more about seeing myself improve.

Running Again

Years and years and eons ago - in another lifetime - when I was 10, I accidentally discovered that I was fast. That if you lined up all the kids in my grade, and had us race around the track, I would arrive at the finish line first. I used to race my neighbor down our street, on his bike, and I would win. It kind of became the neighborhood boast - if any of us had friends over someone would say, "Hey, you should watch Jennifer race Joe on his bike." I loved to run. It was fun, and fast and free. Dad asked me one time what I loved about running and I remember telling him that I loved the feel of the wind in my hair on the back stretch.

For the next 10 years running track was a huge part of my life. From the 6th grade until my Junior year in college I was either competing or coaching. I ran in the "midget" category - forever fielding questions about how a midget could be so tall. I ran as a "junior," (middle school) qualifying to go to nationals in the 800, but backing out at the last minute because I was a kid and wanted to play for the rest of the summer. I ran as a freshman, taking the abuse of older teammates. I ran as a senior, finding a role as a team leader, encouraging younger teammates. I ran in dual meets, conference meets, district meets, state meets regional meets and invitational meets.

I made a lot of memories, had some success, and some losing too. I remember the meet in college at University of Washington. I ran against women so fast that I did two things I had never done before: I ran the 400 faster than I had ever run, and I came in dead last. I also had injuries. I beat my body and to some extent, it still bears the scars. My feet pounded the pavement for so many miles that for years I couldn't run without pain. My knees did so many rotations at such extension and speed, that if I get going at a pace above striding, I can feel the old ache in the same spot as 15 years ago.

And it's been 15 years since I ran regularly. See, by the end of my Junior year in college I was beat up and worn out. Running was no longer fun. The backstretch was all about pressing harder, running faster, strategy and pace - qualifying for the next big event. I wore my hair up in a pony and could no longer feel the wind. I spent 30 minutes with the trainer before practice, getting my legs heated with ultrasound, just so that I could go work out and come back to the trainer for another 30 minutes of ice bath and stretching after my workouts. My roommate was also an athlete and we used to walk home from practice together with our bags of ice and sit on our living room floor icing our injuries as we talked about the day.

Over the years I tried to run for enjoyment and exercise - but there was very little enjoyment. I couldn't stop the old tapes from playing in my head: "Run harder, go faster, push through the pain. . . " I couldn't be a casual jogger, I needed to sprint, to attack the hill, to go further when I wanted to quit. And so I would always stop running. I couldn't stop pushing myself on the road, and I wasn't enjoying it, so I hit this pattern of running for a couple weeks each year, and then quitting until the next year when I would try again and see if I could stick with it without over-doing it.

Then came the babies, all three of them, and the 40 extra pounds. Not 40lbs. overweight for a 6 foot tall 38 year old, but 40lbs. since my running days. And it's a lot harder to run with 40 extra pounds hanging on your bones!! I found that I truly couldn't run without pain. It wasn't just old injuries, it was age and stage and creaks and groans. I didn't have time, for one, I had to push a stroller, for two, and my body just wouldn't endure it. It was in this season that something in my heart shifted. After years of the pressure of running, I felt an old stirring, a desire to feel the wind in my hair. I breathed a prayer from the bottom of my heart. "God, I want to run."

To be continued. . .

Vitamin D

My very nice neighbor works at a local natural health food store. She is very knowledgeable on vitamins and supplements, and so we have had several great conversations about what the kids and I may need. In one of those conversations we were discussing Vitamin D. What I'm about to share is not verbatim - simply my recollection of a conversation - and should not be used to diagnose or treat any illness, depression, or otherwise untoward condition. :)

She was saying that we all need at least 15 minutes of sunshine a day to get our dose of Vitamin D. And it's not just any old sunshine - but specifically sunshine to our eyeballs, without any UV blocking sunglasses. I found that interesting, and tucked it away in my brain in the "interesting info" file.

As I was running today, with the evening summer sun streaming through the trees and into my eyes, I remembered the conversation about Vitamin D. About how we need to get sunlight in our eyeballs in order to be healthy. And yet, any person who has ever had sunlight in her eyeballs knows that it's not the most pleasant experience. Yes, laying with our eyes closed on an air mattress at the lake on a hot summer day, with the sun beating down on our sun starved skin and radiating heat through our closed eye lids is delightful. But may I point out to you that this pleasant experience is not increasing your consumption of Vitamin D through the eyeballs?

Sun in my eyeballs makes me squint, look down, glance up and quickly look away. I can't gaze, I have to glimpse. And that's when I thought that perhaps Vitamin D is a little bit like God. We need to see Him with the eyeballs of our heart in order to be healthy people. (see Ephesians 1:18) We need to spend time each day in His presence, with our eyes open, seeing Him and seeing the world as He sees it. And yet, as we gaze at His glory, it is overwhelming and mind blowing. He is beyond comprehension and the longer we gaze, the more we are aware of the glaring nature of our own shortcomings. He brings us all we long for, and yet we can only handle it in little snippets.

May He increase our capacity to gaze upon His beauty - to receive His love.

Resting in Grace

As you all know, I've been running lately. It feels great to have the energy and be in shape to do something I have always loved, but long neglected! I feel the need to explain why I mention it so much in my posts, before I talk about an insight from the trail today. See, when I'm running, there are no kids, and I have time to think. Need I say more? So many thoughts roll around in my head as I keep putting one foot in front of the other - and I often want to share them with you. Hope you don't get tired of the running analogies. :)

So today I was back at Bush Park - a large park in the center of Salem. A century ago someone was forward thinking and saved some farmland for parkland and it's an oasis in the midst of industrial, commercial and residential downtown. The outer lap around the park is 1.5 miles on a nice soft bark trail. The whole park sits on a gentle incline, so that the Southwest corner is the highest point, and the Northeast corner is the lowest point. Depending on which way you run the lap, you have a different experience with hills. Running clockwise, you have several small inclines, and then a really steep bit to get to the top. Running counterclockwise, you have a looooong stretch that's all incline - just gradually up for a long time. Today I was running counterclockwise.

I'm finding that if I pay too much attention to being on the hill, it makes it harder to run. If my mind is thinking, "I'm on the hill and this is hard work and see how hard I'm huffing and puffing," then the run gets significantly more difficult than if I'm listening to a song, watching the squirrels and not paying attention to the terrain. Just one foot in front of the other. No serious introspection, just keep going. So I've been trying to adjust my mental focus when I run. Rather than thinking through every dip and rise of the trail, I'm thinking or praying or looking at the beautiful trees and sky. It helps me keep going in strength.

However, there are moments when I notice how my body is feeling. I'm breathing hard and my legs ache and my arms are pinned to my sides and I think, "Man, I'm still out of shape, I can't even run a mile and a half without getting worn out." And then I notice where I am. I'm two thirds of the way up the loooong incline, and it's totally normal to be feeling the pain at that moment.

So, what does this have to do with resting in grace? Well, the way I see it, it's restful to do life from a place of more freedom. Not worried about every little thing, doing each day for each day's sake, and not being so introspective or investigating every jot and tittle. Just do it. As they say at Nike. And yet it is grace to notice what hill we're on. When we start to feel bad about ourselves, the jobs we're not getting accomplished, the list that never seems to get shorter, or the fuse that gets shorter every day, it's important to look around and notice our season of life. Are we out in the open, hot sun blaring, wind blowing on our face, 2/3rds of the way up the loooong slope, or are we on the downhill side, in the pretty woods by the stream, catching our breath? It's normal to be out of breath on the big hill, and it's necessary to spend time on the downhill side, catching our breath.

And the same is true in life. It's normal to get run down during the seasons of life that demand much of us, and it's necessary to have some time doing things that allow us to catch our breath. It's resting in the midst of the ups and downs of life, giving ourselves grace for the wear and tear we feel from the daily grind.

May you have freedom to run the race of life without over-analyzing, eyes to see the situation you are in clearly and realistically, and grace to accept your responses as honest and authentic living. You're o.k. The downhill side is coming.

No Comparison

My newly renewed enjoyment of running has led me to an unseemly discovery. It has exposed one of my strongest rooted weaknesses - that undying capacity to compare myself to others. Uhgg.

About a month ago I discovered that it no longer hurt my feet, ankles, shins, knees and hips to run. I know running is supposed to hurt - but not every bone and joint below my neck!! When I made this discovery, I began running three times a week. My early endeavors should not be truly counted as "running" really, but it was a start. My "only" opportunity to run was in the morning and the time available only left me with the option of a quick jaunt around a few blocks close to my house. On cement sidewalks.

One week ago today my feet, ankles and calves gave notice that they were done pounding the pavement. Having just rediscovered this love, and being completely unwilling to give it up when I'm feeling so good, I found another time to run and have gone down to Bush Park a couple times, which has a bark chip path. My feet and legs are happier, and I'm still running - which makes me very happy!

However, the difference between the neighborhood around my house and the running trail at Bush Park is that there are other runners at the park. As I run I pass and get passed. Some people are running the same direction as me - it's really embarrassing when one of them passes me - and there are those going the opposite direction - I pass them two times on either side of each lap.

so, here's the true confession - I'm awful. I won't even begin to tell you all the thoughts that run through my head about myself and others and as do what comes so natural to me and compare every living thing in the park. From size and speed to hair color and choice of running outfit - I notice it and compare.

This morning as I went out I asked God to give me a different way to deal with the noticing. I don't want to be a person who automatically puts people in boxes, so it was obvious that I needed to get rid of the boxes. The thing that came to me today was to notice and bless. God made us to notice things - but I take it to competing and comparing. This morning I noticed the woman older than me who passed me from behind, twice, and I prayed that God would bless her with healthy joints. I noticed the woman my age who was farther along than me each time we crossed paths and prayed that God would bless her with increase. I noticed the woman who was clearly out running to try to get back in shape, and I blessed her with perseverance. Rather than noticing and comparing, I noticed and blessed.

It was good.

Running Parables - volume one

I've been running lately. That may come as a shock to many of you. Quite honestly, it's been a bit of a shock to me. If you've only known me for the last 15 years, you may not even know that I used to be a runner. Not a "runner" in the sense that you're thinking. I didn't do marathons or half-marathon or even 5K fun runs. I was a sprinter. Run fast. Stop. Run fast. Stop. None of this jog-till-you-drop stuff!!

Be that as it may, I've now returned to my roots and taken up jogging. Funny thing - at age 38 and having been out of shape for 14 years - it doesn't work to go down to the local track, put on your spikes, and take off at full speed. A person can hurt themselves. So I've been jogging from home, gradually adding more time and distance. I confess to loving it and being thrilled that I'm physically in a place where I can do it.

As I run, I have an abundance of amazingly profound thoughts. I often think, "Oh, I need to go home and blog about that one," but by the time I've huffed and puffed home, got a shower, helped the kids get ready and out the door to school and cleaned up from last night's mess - I've generally forgotten that I went running in the morning, let alone having had any profound thoughts. Today, however, I remembered, so here it is, with no further ado.

For the last 9 years I have had to run with a stroller. The other day when I was running, I was reflecting on how much easier it is to run now that I'm not pushing a stroller with my two good arms. Arms were made for pumping when a person runs, not pushing a stroller. So having them extended in front of me holding onto a large rolling object interferes with both my stride and

my rhythm. Using my arms as they were created to be used, has made a huge difference in both my ability to run, and my enjoyment of the activity.

So, here are my two life lessons about arms and running today. The first is that we have to accept and give ourselves grace for the season of life we are in. I'm no longer pushing a stroller, which makes running easier. I need to give myself grace for the 9 years I really didn't run much, because that was the season I was in. You may be pushing a "stroller" in another area of life - that just makes it harder to do what you need to do. Accept the stroller season, and give yourself grace. It's good to know our limitations and live within the boundaries of our season of life. It makes life more free. Don't beat yourself up for what you can't do - or the energy you don't have because you have to fight hard for what you accomplish each day.

Second - the body of Christ is kind of like a runner. And if that runner doesn't have arms, it doesn't function very well. I believe the Church has formed denominations around body parts. Let me explain. :) We tend to congregate with those who think like us and act like us. But Jesus said we are a body and we need each other. The eye can't say to the foot that it's more important, neither can the hand function if it has no arm. So while preaching unity, the church has divided over it's body parts. The brains formed an intellectual denomination, the hearts/emotions formed a charismatic denomination, the hands formed a social justice denomination and the moral conscience formed conservative denominations all over America. We are weak because we are only body parts. What would happen if the mind, heart and will all engaged together and formed a body that was all at the same time intellectual, emotional AND active in social justice. The theology would be sharpened by the experiences of worship, and worship would be purified by good theology. The activities of the church would flow out of love and grace. Morality is upheld because of desire rather than obligation - and we have a sort of "checks and balances" that God designed.

When we leave out a body part - or make it push the stroller - we weaken the structure that God intended for the church.