Supporting Each Other

In our town, there is a high school P.E. coach named Paul who I have encountered on several occasions. The first time was earlier this summer when I met him and his adult son Jakob atop a steep hill in our area that is popular with runners and mountain bikers.

As the school year dawned, I saw him again regularly at a track where I go for training runs. He had his soccer team running drills there.

I don't know how many kids are on that team, maybe 20 or so. They come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and abilities. When they run laps, some finish far ahead of the others. Yet, as they finish they gather and call out encouragement to their teammates. "C'mon! You can do it! Great job! Way to go, man!"

Everyone on the team cheers until the last runner has finished his mile.

It's not that I would expect them to yell, "Move your butt, slow-poke!" but they could finish their mile and just talk to each other until the rest wrap it up. Instead, they stay involved with one another, lifting each one up, making sure everyone knows they are important to the team and worth cheering.

They are learning that cheering another person's success does not diminish their own.

What a valuable lesson to teach.

Way to go, Coach!

Pace e bene,
Fr. David+

My Name is David and I Am Needy

I am a needy man. I have moments of despair and doubt, loneliness and uncertainty, disappointment and pessimism. I need reassurance in those moments. Sometimes I can get it directly from God, feel the Presence, have a clear conversation with Jesus. Sometimes I get it indirectly, through a moving song, film, book, poem or even facebook post. Sometimes I get it personally, receive it from someone who loves me.

On my best days, I am still needy. What makes them my best days is that I recognize that fact and ask for what I need.

Maybe I'm setting the bar too low, but I anticipate I will always have one need or another. I live in a world made of human beings and temporal things. People are here for a season, not always available, passing on or away. Things last for awhile, then evaporate or wear out or become obsolete.

Don't get me wrong; there are a handful of people I trust completely, and others to whom I respond according to what they present. I'm not cursing my life in a temporal world, nor preaching that everyone is useless and going to hell in a hand-basket.

I'm just saying that sometimes I am needy and I reach out to these sources in order to satisfy my need.

I believe my neediness is what guides me to God. I am not self-sufficient, and how foolish it is when I think that I am. I needed parents and a heritage in order to get here in the first place. I needed care, food, direction, lessons, training. I did not teach myself to ride a bike the moment I popped out of the womb. People encouraged me to sit up, crawl, walk, run, and so on until I began experimenting with that daunting two-wheeler (four-wheeler if you count the training wheels!!).

Yes, my name is David and I am needy. My ultimate satisfaction will be my union with God. Every need I feel is a reminder and a signpost that leads me deeper and deeper into that union.

Tonight I had a brief encounter with a group of people who do not know they are needy. The claw and clamor for recognition, demand their superiority, and fight like the Gospel's "sons of thunder" for first place in a competition they believe leads only to first place or dead last.

Our false sense of independence is what throws us into these violent competitions. Ego wants a statue erected to it and the best seat at the dinner table.

Jesus doesn't support that attitude. He says to not take the seat of honor, but the lowliest one at the table. He says in order to be great in God's world, we are called to be servants, not slave-masters.

If we give up competition, what is left? Give up competition! How un-Western, let alone un-American!! What is left is cooperation governed by compassion. If we are busy serving each other, nobody needs to win because everyone will.

When we act as if we have no needs, we are dangerous to ourselves and others. We no longer see ourselves as human. How can we then relate to the humans around us?

No, my friend, I hate to disillusion you about priests, but I have to let you know this one is chock-full of needs. That is what opens me to love.

Thank You, God, for bringing me to the point of recognizing how wonderful it is to be needy.

Pace e bene,
Fr. David+

And the World Kept Turning

When I left the nursing home this morning after attending my friend's death, I drove to the running track where we train on Monday and Thursdays. I was dressed in what my friend jokingly calls my "priest tuxedo" - black slacks, sandals, and a shirt with a Roman collar. Not the usual wear for a training run.

I arrived about 7:30 a.m. and began to walk the track while awaiting my coach's arrival for our scheduled 8:00 a.m. training.

It was a grace to be in this familiar place doing this familiar thing, laps on the track, even though I was just walking. I didn't have to do anything but follow the lanes and just be. The similarity to a labyrinth was not lost one me. This, I thought, is my labyrinth.

The coach arrived and understood when I explained the events of my evening and my decision to go home and get a nap. We walked about a mile or so together, and somewhere along the way my sandal broke. When you wear out the sandals you generally wear when ministering, it's probably time to see how the rest of you is doing. After walking barefoot for about 1/4 of a mile, I headed home and he began his planned workout.

I took a nap, a wonderful, deep, out-like-a-light nap. When I woke, I felt better but not totally refreshed. In the past week, there have been a lot of extra activities, including visits to my dying friend. I have a busy life in general; this week has been more-so than usual. There is personal restoration to do.

I called the people I had scheduled for the afternoon, and asked if they would mind moving their appointments to tomorrow afternoon instead. They understood and accommodated the change. I cleared my evening, too, deciding just to take care of my needs today.

So I took a day off, and much to my ego's dismay, the world did not stop turning, the sun did not quit shining, and the Milky Way did not collapse upon itself into a giant black hole.

Tomorrow will be a busy day, and Saturday will be a busy day, and Sunday will be a busy day, and on and on. I'll be ready for them, because today I listened to my mind, my heart, my soul and my body. We can only give what we have to give.

Take care of yourself. When your shoes wear out, take a nap. The world will keep turning.

The song "Come with Me into the Fields" by Dan Schutte came to mind. It is based on Matthew 9:37. Let's close with his words instead of mine.

The fields are high and summer's days are few;
green fields have turned to gold.
The time is here for the harvesting,
for gathering home into barns.

The harvest is plenty; laborers are few.
Come with me into the fields.
Your arms may grow weary; your shoes will wear thin.
Come with me into the fields.

The seeds were sown by other hands than yours;
nurtured and cared for they grow.
But those who have sown will not harvest them;
the reaping will not be their care.

The harvest is plenty; laborers are few.
Come with me into the fields.
Your arms may grow weary; your shoes will wear thin.
Come with me into the fields.

pace e bene
David+

Farewell, Friend

A telephone call in the night. I headed to the nursing home, about 20 miles distant. My friend's condition had changed, and he was on his way home. I was grateful for their call, because I promised him I would be back in the morning. I just didn't realize how early in the morning that would turn out to be.

So I sat on the edge of the bed, holding his hand and occasionally stroking his forehead, letting him know I was there, God was there, and it was all right. He was resting peacefully. Somewhere around 6:30 this morning, he quietly passed on.

Witnessing his good and gentle death reminded me of the poem "Crossing the Bar" by Alfred Lord Tennyson:

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual Light shine upon him. May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen.

Pace e bene,
David+

Brief Moments in a Vast Eternity

This evening, I sat on the edge of a bed holding the hand of my dying friend. When I first arrived, he could not move his head enough to focus on me and see that I was there. The nurse wheeled his bed to an angle away from the wall so I could position myself in his line of sight. His eyes opened wide, and he said, "Where you been?" I told him I have been there every day, but he was asleep the last two times I visited. He closed his eyes and rested while I rubbed his forehead and reminded him about how much God loves him. I started to shift my position and he said, "Don't leave yet." I assured him I would remain. Now and then after that, he would try to speak, but he was tired and dealing with fluid building up, so his efforts were guttural at best. After about half-an-hour, he summoned his strength and clearly said, "My brother David." I told him he was right, that I am his brother. You might not see the family resemblance at first, if you are distracted by comparing the black man with the thick grey dreadlocks to the mostly bald white man with the sparse, short grey hair. But, that same distraction gets in the way for all of us. We don't see the family resemblance we share as the family of humankind. That's all right; all that mattered tonight was that the two of us saw it. We didn't know each other before the hospital called me a week ago in response to his request to talk and pray with someone. But, to paraphrase an Eva Cassidy song, "we know each other now by heart." He probably has a couple of days left, according to the experts. Maybe more; who can say? The educated guess is two. The nursing home knows to call me if there are any significant changes before I see him tomorrow. Before too long, there will be a tomorrow when I won't see him anymore. Tonight, I held his hand, leaned in, and sang him the song, "All Through the Night," a lullaby from Peter, Paul and Mary's "Peter, Paul and Mommy" album of children's music. I reminded him that he is a beloved child of God, kissed him on the forehead, and quietly left the room as he drifted into sleep.

The Illusion of Final

I had a tough training run today. The first three or four miles were all right, but after that, I was struggling. I've run the distance and the terrain before, but you would never know that from today's experience. In fact, I've often run further. I was slightly over eight miles into my 10 mile run when I began to weave back and forth and realized I was "bonking." I didn't have the reserves to continue. I felt physically spent. I sat down, exhausted. My running partner Warren was having a strong day, and was well up the final hill when I sat at the foot of it. My other running partner Jessi came back to where I was and asked if I was all right. I said I was; I just had bonked and felt wasted. She said, "Are you sure? You're almost there." I asked for help standing up, and made my way to a nearby bench in the shade. I knew I would be OK, and encouraged her to finish her run. She left and I recovered in the shade for a few minutes with her question echoing in my head. Am I sure I'm finished? Am I OK with stopping this close to my goal? Am I sure I'm finished? Did I really want to end this run at this point? Am I sure I'm finished? As I regained my strength, I realized the answer was, "No. I'm not finished. I only have a mile and three-quarters left. I don't need to run it at top speed, but I need to finish it because I can." I dialed Warren on my cell phone to let him know of my decision and the route I would be taking. I topped the hill and a little at a time began to run toward my goal. No one would have mistaken me for Usain Bolt during that last segment. My best pace was a lively jog. But it was not my intention to set a speed record. It was my intention to finish. Warren and Jessi doubled back and ran with me while I finished the last mile. I told Jessi that it was her comment, "Are you sure? You're almost there," that made the difference. As teammates, we encourage each other and affirm each other's success. I knew I was supported 100% whether I continued or stopped short. I also knew if I could finish, I must finish. This is not some macho code of honor; this is simply having integrity and learning what the day and the trail want to teach. I have learned over the past 10 months of endurance running training that I have not come close to completely tapping my reserves. I have learned more and more that I have reserves to tap. I have learned that I am loved and supported, not just by my friends, but by strangers in the running community who call out encouragement as they pass. At the end of the run, I had gone 10.25 miles before I switched off my performance tracker. After that, I probably walked another 1/3 of a mile. What mattered was not that I did not do so well as a trail runner, or that I had to regroup a couple of times physically along the way. What mattered was that when I was almost there, and no one was going to judge me for the decision I made, the only decision I could make was to finish. Today, I learned there is a difference between giving all and giving up.

The Power of Will

The popular belief is that we only use 10% of our brain. I have heard this is a misconception; actually the other 90% is used for processing functions. Either way, there is always more "brain power" available. As an endurance runner, I am learning about the power of will. My training today involved running a mile uphill at a sustained high heart rate (between 140-155 bpm; my resting pulse is 51, and my comfortable running zone is 130-135). Occasionally it would fall to 139 or 138, and I had to push as much psychologically as physically to force it back up into the 140+ range. Bodies in motion do not necessarily want to stay in motion! When I am feeling spent, it is hard to summon the will to hit the accelerator. However, that is when I begin to appreciate how powerful the will is. I am exercising it as much as my legs and lungs and heart. I can be stubborn, but not necessarily strong-willed. Now I am learning how to be strong-willed. The will is powerful, and I suspect employing even 10% would be amazing. Nothing I have done in my life has taught me about the will quite like endurance running. At first the only will that seemed related to endurance running was the one dividing my estate, because on some of those initial double-digit training runs, I was pretty sure I needed to keep it up-to-date! Now the other will is involved, the force within. And yes, my heart rate averaged 142 on that uphill run. That's the power of will.

Soft Souls and Nomads

I'll call him Curtis. He's the patient the hospital called me to visit on Sunday. That was the day he asked for someone with whom he could talk and pray. He felt alone, estranged from his son and daughter and separated from his brother and sister who had their own lives. We talked, we prayed, and the next day when I went to visit him, he was smiling. He had received calls from his brother, his sister, his son and his daughter. Today he was transferred to a nursing home. It is expected he will be there until the end of his journey and it is expected that won't be too far in the future. He just says, "God knows." I went to visit him in the nursing home, two towns away, in another county. I arrived late in the evening, "playing the clergy card" to get in after-hours. The staff knew I was on my way. "Curtis" greeted me with a deep hug. He told me his daughter and four granddaughters had come to see him that afternoon. Thank You for listening, God. He talked with his brother and sister. Their lives are different from his. They have expensive homes and comfortable lives, things that were never part of his experience. "Some souls are nomads," I said, "journeying through this life. Nomads see things that city-dwellers will never understand." He looks like a nomad, and he seemed to relate to the idea. I told him about a parish where i did mission work once in the Dominican Republic, Jesus Pellegrino. "Jesus the Pilgrim." Curtis strikes me as a pilgrim on this journey. I think that accounts for his deep love of spirituals and old hymns. He told me it wasn't his work to be like his brother and sister. It was his work to be a "soft soul," the one that ministers to others. I loved that description. Lord, teach me too to be a soft soul on this pilgrimage!

Necessary Grace and the Meaning of a Single Day

In the middle of a busy afternoon, the cell phone rang. "This is the hospital calling and we have a patient who would like to see a minister..." I am one of the overnight and weekend ministers on call, so I shifted my day and headed to the hospital. Who am I to know what to say to a stranger on a hospital bed? What words can I offer to a family whose loved one just died? The hospital doesn't call me for people who can wait for the day chaplain. I don't often know how I will be called upon to serve; this leaves plenty of room to depend not only on grace but on necessary grace. I stopped at the nurse's station to check on the patient, but his nurse was on her rounds and the man at the desk could offer no information. After a short walk to the room and a knock on the open door, I met the patient. He was an older man, although I could not tell if he was all that much older than me. Heavy, restless, and uncomfortable with a mass of grey dreadlocks and piercing brown eyes, he looked up at me and said, "I'm going through some stuff." Medication and weariness interrupted his thoughts from time to time so that constructing a sentence ebbed and flowed like trying to start a car motor on a cold winter day. Sadness, regret and doubt clouded his words. Relationships had fallen away; expectations were unmet; potential was unrealized. Jobs came and went, some good, some not so good. He was a talented photographer in the 35mm film days; his illiteracy never allowed him the chance to catch up. He had never become the man his mother envisioned, never felt able to fill his father's shoes, lost touch with his children, and was estranged from his brother and sister. This was his life: alone for three weeks in a hospital bed, with one visitor other than me in all of that time. His next home would be a brief stay at a hospice facility. Lacking a heart transplant, there was no other prognosis and the one he had was short-term. He did not look at his life and ask me, "Is God punishing me? Does God not like me?" He only asked, "How can I know I'm all right with God? I have failed at many things." I quoted Psalm 51:17 to him. "My sacrifice is a contrite spirit; my humbled heart You will not spurn." I assured him that the moment we ask, "Am I all right with God?" God rushes to answer, "Yes, and how I love you!" It is not in our achievements that God delights, although we feverishly continue to build our personal Towers of Babel as though they make a difference in eternity. It is in our hearts that God delights, in hearts turned toward God, in hearts that ache and long to feel connected with God. God does not need us to have a perfect heart, only a humble one, only one that needs God and knows it. He was tired, so I excused myself and told him I will see him tomorrow. Tomorrow? Tomorrow, he will be taken off of an IV medication and switched to oral prescriptions. This will increase the likelihood that the hospital will be able to find an "end-of-life care placement" for him. I asked the nurse to include a staff note to let me know the next facility to which he goes so that I can be a friend to this man who could use one. Tomorrow may or may not find him still here. He does not seem to have many tomorrows left. But he had today, and today we talked, and he cried, and he told the nurse it helped. Today he had the opportunity to hear that God loves him, loves him deeply and fully as if he were God's only child. God forgives him. God is always offering a new start to him. I hope he'll be around for me to see him tomorrow. We were a somewhat unlikely pair to find common ground, but faith, hope and love make up some powerful common ground. Today, I could offer him all three. A time will come when faith will be rewarded and hope will be fulfilled, and only love will remain. Forever. Not regret, not sadness, not doubt. Pure love. Necessary grace.

So Many Lessons

So yesterday during my long run, I "bonked." This is when a runner physically runs out of reserves. Like a car running out of gas, just past mile 12 I began to sputter on my way to a stop. I didn't meet my expectation to run 17 miles, and I couldn't keep up with my friends who ran the rest of the remaining 5 miles. Of course, that parental loop was running through my head: "Don't be a quitter!" "Why can't you be like your friends?" Among other messages.

Did it matter that December 1, 2011, I had not run for 30 years, and here I was on March 17, 2012 churning out miles? No. Of course not. Ego says it's black or white, finish or don't finish. Just do it! Not try, do!

Maybe Yoda and Mr. Miyagi are not always right.

Wow! That feels blasphemous to say. Or maybe we need to keep it in context.

There is a wonderful line in the movie Top Gun: "Your ego is writing checks your body can't cash." I never really understood that line until I began running again. Now it's beginning to sink in.

I laughed with four friends tonight as I described my journey from bonk to blessing. There are so many gifts that have emerged that I know I am yet to find them all.

I thought of the recent hospital visits I had made as a priest, called in to somehow say the right thing to strangers who had emotionally and spiritually bonked because of their own or a loved one's illness, or a sudden death in the family. God's little reminder: "Remember, Fr. David, that this is what it feels like to run out of reserves."

I thought about what it means to be a disciple. It means to follow a discipline. In the Gospel according to Mark, chapter 9, verses 14-29, there is a story of a possessed boy who is brought to Jesus to be delivered from a demon. Jesus casts out the demon, healing the boy. His disciples go to Jesus privately, and ask, "Why couldn't we do that?" You see, just a bit earlier in chapter 6, Jesus had sent the disciples out two by two, and gave them authority over unclean spirits. So, why is it just a page or two later that they fail at what He told them to do?
Jesus responds, "This kind can only come out by prayer." Some manuscripts read, "...by prayer and fasting."

Jesus was telling His disciples they couldn't do it because they were not prepared for what was required to do it. Their earlier successes gave them confidence, but confidence alone is not sufficient.

To be a disciple is to follow a discipline. And in running, the disciple would ask, "Why couldn't I do that?" And the Coach may respond, "This distance requires patience and pacing."

Whatever the answer, the wise choice is to listen to it rather than to keep repeating the question to myself. For 28 hours. Nonstop.

Some people question Jesus' humanity and some His divinity. I believe without doubt that Jesus is fully human and fully divine. My problem is that sometimes I forget I am fully human. I expect to function in the realm of the divine, and while I am always in the presence of God, I do God a disservice when I ignore my humanity. It is a gift given to my soul.

One of my theological heroes, Fr. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, wrote about the divinization of our diminishment. My simple application of his profound thought is that when we crack, when something gives and our ego develops a splintering gap, we have an opportunity for God to be allowed to enter more deeply into our consciousness and fill that part with divinity where before we had filled it with, or more accurately, buried it beneath, our ego.

Thus, when we are diminished, we are in a deep state of blessing. Those painful fissures are open doors through which we can choose to admit God. They are opportunities to abandon the artificial loneliness in which we choose to live, and instead live in The Divine Milieu. Simply put, to abandon our lonely estate in favor of living in a state of grace.

So I didn't run for 17 miles in a row. My coach told me "the day delivered to me what it was supposed to." Apparently it was supposed to deliver by the truckload, and it's all good.

Human after all

This humanity thing is not always simple. Or fun.

Today, I joined my team for a training run of 17 miles. However, I only made it for about 13 of them before I had to stop. Last week, on a 15 mile run, I made it to 11, then had to stop, but that time I was able to continue and finish the distance. Not today.

Yesterday was a difficult day for me, and it made today's results feel like a failure. I could have used some success today, but apparently God didn't get that memo.

I left the training session feeling very down about what happened.

You see, I felt like I had lost hope. I had hoped I would not encounter a day like yesterday, but I did. I had hoped I would finish 17 miles and be celebrating it, but I didn't. And I hoped this week's run would redeem last week's, but that was not the case.

I thought perhaps a nap would refresh my body and spirit, but I laid awake, physically sore and emotionally uncomfortable.

The phone rang. It was a friend of mine who was excited by some news she got. An unexpected, slim possibility had come to pass and her faith was rewarded right when things looked the darkest for her in a very difficult situation.

I went out to my car with a Sharpie permanent marker. On the back of my car is a "13.1" sticker marking the first day I ran a half-marathon (13.1 miles). Underneath the numbers, I printed the words "and counting."

Hope is an elusive thing, sometimes. I'm disappointed and embarrassed that I could not go the distance my friends were able to go. It will probably still take some more time to work through those feelings. They seem to be running deep. But, some wee, defiant part of me has begun to rise up, some part willing to add that "and counting," some part that refuses not to believe no matter how the rest of me feels.

Though it may be in the minority at this moment, I am grateful for that wee, defiant part. It is the spark of hope.

Living the Creative Life

We are wonderfully and awesomely made in the image and likeness of God, according to Scripture. No where is that more clearly evidenced than in the natural creativity of human beings.

While God originated the sunset, artists reinterpret it; songwriters use it metaphorically; westerns use it to represent the end of the story, and so on.

God invites us to create together, and those who respond with "Yes!" begin adventures that change their lives and the lives of others for the better. Some become well-known, others remain anonymous, but their influence is felt in both cases.

You and I are invited to co-create our lives with God. Because we have free will, we can choose to co-create without God, but no one creates alone. We are all influenced by some source, perhaps the opinions of our parents, or the perspectives of our friends, or the influence of unexamined feelings, or the stimulus of chemicals, or the directions of a person we have positioned as our superior.

In other words, if we don't choose to co-create with God, our life will be co-created by someone else. If we don't understand our role is to participate in that creation, then we will wind up living someone else's life as our own.

I prefer to co-create with God. That sounds idealistic and rosy, but it means there are times when we (God and I) have to dismantle the work others have done in my life, and rebuild according to the original blueprints, not by the shortcuts or alterations someone else created.

Simply put, it requires work and dedication and willingness. When I discover I am not on-track, I need to notice it and get back on-track.

If I see this effort as a part-time job, and I only work with God when I punch the clock and then leave God's influence behind at the end of my work day, it will take a lot longer to get things done. On the other hand, if I pray and meditate and stay centered on God, it is much easier.

In my training as an endurance athlete learning how to run long distances, my focus is on a variety of checkpoints. How is my posture? How is my stride? How is my foot strike? Are my shoulders relaxed? Are my IT bands flexible? Am I breathing well? Am I leaning into the hills? Am I letting myself recover on the downhill runs? The more I pay attention to these things, the better and farther I can run. I learned them from the Coach who is helping to co-create me as a runner. From spending time with him, the lessons become intuitive. To those around me, I look like a runner now.

Likewise, from spending time with God, the lessons become intuitive. As I internalize the guidance and directions that God gives me, I look more and more to those around me like someone who is co-creating a life with God.

How is my posture? Is it humble and grateful? How is my stride? Is it joyous and confident? How is my foot strike? Is it sure and directed? Are my shoulders relaxed, or am I too preoccupied with carrying my burdens and not giving them to God? Are my IT bands flexible? Am I ready to go in the direction I am told? Am I breathing well? Am I inhaling Spirit and allowing it to generate life within me? Am I leaning into the hills? Am I willing to take on the parts of this road that climb and offer challenges? Am I letting myself recover on the downhill runs? Am I laughing with God and offering praise?

Someone or something is going to co-create your life with you. Will it be God?

Crucifixion and Resurrection

The past week has been challenging on every level. It culminated Friday night in a 10:00 p.m. trip to the emergency veterinary clinic with my beloved cat, where she was left overnight with an uncertain fate, and then a 3:00 a.m. call to the hospital to comfort a family dealing with an unexpected death.

After that, I drove down to the clinic where the cat was improved somewhat, then went home and grabbed two hours of sleep before rising to join my marathon team on a 15-mile training run over hills and trails.

I started strong, keeping up with the better runners on our team for the first five miles, which is a big improvement for me. I knew eventually they would pull away. About 10 or 11 miles into the run, I ran out of steam. I was dizzy, wobbling, and thoroughly exhausted, facing the main hill climb for the second loop and feeling 100% empty and hollow.

Our assistant coach came down the hill toward me, like an angel descending, and asked how I was doing. We went through the checklist. Pain? No. Exhaustion? Yes. She suggested I call it a day, since the coaches knew I was beginning already depleted from lack of sleep. I asked if it was all right for me to just sit down for a minute, and she said yes. I was an emotional wreck.

I sat on the grass beside the trail. It was the softest, coolest grass I have ever felt. She sat beside me, helping me think things through.

Our coach came up at that point and asked what was happening, and he agreed with her assessment that I call it a day. After a bit, I stood up and looked at Coach and tried to say, "I don't want to fail." However, I only got the "I don't" part out before I was wracked with tears, and for about two minutes I sobbed like a baby while they hugged and supported me.

And then it was done. The tears had passed. I stood erect, and it was as if someone had poured strength into me. The assistant coach said I looked a lot better. I said to her, "Let's conquer this hill."

They allowed me to continue, and continue I did. After some distance, they had me check-in again. We were at a point where I could pack it in, or finish the last four or so miles. I said I would obey their direction, but I wanted to finish the distance.

After a little more examination, they gave me the permission to finish and Coach ran beside me, allowing me to set the pace. In a mix of running, jogging and walking, I completed the 15 miles.

As I did, I noticed the depth of the blue sky, the intensity of the green hills, the song of the waves of the lake lapping at the shore, all as if I were seeing it for the first time.

Somewhere around mile 10 or 11, a part of me died and a new part rose up, more alive than I have ever felt in my life. Completely alive.

When I arrived to run this morning, our team chaplain said a prayer that included a familiar passage from Isaiah 40:30-31: "But those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."

Sometimes we have to be willing to endure the crucifixion in order to understand resurrection. When we do, the LORD renews our strength. We run and not grow weary, and we walk and not be faint.

When All Else Fails

I spent some time at a hospital tonight at the bedside of a man who had no answers, only questions. Sometimes, there are no answers. But that does not mean there IS no answer. There is an answer, and it is love.

If we trust love, we have an answer.

I know it's very 1960's of me to say, "Love is the answer," but I have yet to find it isn't, so I'm sticking with it.

Just Like God's Own Lippizaner

Training for a marathon at age 56 after not running for thirty-odd years has turned out to be less daunting and more exciting than I imagined. Good coaching has been the key to joyful running.

Still, I managed to get a knot in my thigh muscle that sidelined me a bit, and it took massage, rest, and gentle, warmed-up stretches to work through it. I tried to run on Monday of this week, but it was too painful. Monday night I received the massage, and Tuesday and Wednesday I took it easy, just walking and nothing more.

Now, Thursday is here and I went to the track intending another day of walking while my teammates ran. Our long runs are on Saturday, and I wanted to be able to join them for that.

I walked about a mile and felt good, so I decided to try a light jog. I was fearful that the knot would return and decided the jog would help me overcome that fear. As I began to jog, I was joyful that no pain began. It was a beautiful morning and I felt like I was God’s Own Lippizaner Stallion, prancing. So after another 400 meters, I became God’s Own Trotting Lippizaner, and 400 meters later, God’s Own Running Lippizaner.

When I was a freshman in high school, back in the days of the dinosaurs, we had a nun who told us we were thoroughbreds who had tremendous potential, but that potential needed to be harnessed and directed.

I remembered that this morning as I harnessed and directed my inner Lipizzaner.

God has created a universe for my pleasure, filled with redwoods and stars and brooks and oceans and sunsets. Today I felt like I had the opportunity to offer God pleasure, to give God a show in a simple way that celebrated who I was created to be.

What a precious time that was when all else fell away, and in that whole universe there was only God and God’s Own Dancing Lippizaner.

Heroes Where You Least Expect Them

This morning I met Coach at the track in a local park for our training session. The workout would be light since we are running in a 10K race (6.2 miles) on Sunday. Our drill was to run barefoot in order to become familiar with where our natural foot-strike occurs. I was apprehensive about running on the textured track surface, but I figured it would be like a giant pumice stone and other people pay a fortune for pedicures. So, off with the shoes and socks, and onto the track I went.

Soon it felt natural, and I was able to sprint, jog, run and walk as instructed. I began doing some speed drills, running 50 or 100 yards to catch up with people walking the track, then recovering at an easy pace.

There was a woman running on the track who I will call Ann (not her real name). As I passed her during one of my last speed drills, I was breathing as deeply as possible. "Breathe! Breathe!" she said as I passed, although a slight speech impediment made it sound like she said, "Bree! Bree!"

I knew what she meant, so I slowed down and said to her with a laugh, "Breathing is good!" She smiled and said, "I love to run." The slight catch in her speech was still there. At first, I thought she might be deaf, speaking with the open-throated tone that some deaf people have.

I said and signed to her, "I'll go with you," and we began to run again. Her pace was moderate but enthusiastic, clearly showing the joy she felt about running. I jogged barefoot beside her, no longer thinking of my feet.

We ran a few laps together, running until we caught up with three friends of hers who were walking the track. One friend said this would be the last lap. Ann and I paused while I introduced myself to her friends, and they began to finish the lap.

"I had an accident," she said, voluntarily filling in the gaps. "I was 16. I was in a coma for a long time. They said I would never breathe on my own or talk or walk. Now I'm 36 and I love to run."

"You are my hero," I said. Her eyes were shining when she said to me, "And you are my hero."

"Well," I said, "I do have this big scar across my left side where they took my kidney out when I was a kid. I could never play sports. Now I'm 56 and I'm training to run a marathon."

"See?" she said, "you are a hero. We're both heroes." Her smile beamed.

"The first time I spoke after my accident, I was my hero," she said. "Then I couldn't walk and speak at the same time. Now I can run and speak. We are all heroes."

We ran to the track's gate, where she caught up with her friends. I told her I am usually here at the track this time of day Mondays through Thursdays, and I hoped we could be running partners again.

Who would want to miss the opportunity to run with a real hero? Not me, that's for certain.

Old Words, New Meanings

This past week our marathon team met for the Saturday long run training. We went seven miles. I admit this may have influenced the following anecdote.

Last night, I dreamed the Lord's Prayer was worded, "Lead us not into temptation, but help us make it over the next hill."

When I ran a 10k for the first time, last week, I was running on my own. I wanted to take a break and walk part of it. The temptation was strong! But I wanted to stay in integrity. On the other hand, there was a slight hill coming up that felt like a mountain!

I kept running, remembering the name of Dick Gregory's book, "Are You Running With Me, Jesus?" and I finished the 10k.

Just get me over the next hill, Lord, whatever it might be. Amen.