I Have Finished the Race

I was the kid in elementary school who asked my mom to write notes to excuse me from running laps in PE. There wasn't anything wrong with me, I simply hated running...with a passion. I didn't really see the point of running circles around a track, going nowhere, and not feeling good doing it.

And then, one day, in my late 30's, my brother threw out the idea that I should join his training group and run a half marathon. I'm pretty sure I laughed. Then I went home, and the Lord told me I needed to do it. 

Max was only a few months old at the time and we had just finished building this house and moved in. During the three year building phase, I rarely saw Nelson. He worked a full time job, came home, changed clothes, and headed to the house to work. Needless to say, after all that time with the kids on my own, I was ready for a break.

I signed up for the group and Nelson agreed to come home early one day a week so I could make one of the week night training runs. He stayed home Saturday mornings so I could do the long runs as well. That meant I got up an hour earlier than most people in the group so I could pump and leave a bottle for Max. I was still young"ish" and a little out of my mind.

In the training group, I was simply Amy.  I wasn't Nelson's wife, or my kids' mama (though of course, I was). To them, I was simply the lady who had never run a race in her life. I was AWAYS the slowest one in the group, so I got in a lot of really good prayer times, as well as plain old quiet time. I discovered that runners are some of the nicest people around. They cheer you on, encourage you, and even run extra distances to turn back and run with you. 

When I crossed the finish line of my first half marathon, I felt like a champion. It didn't matter that I was slower than most, I accomplished something that I thought was impossible for me and that felt great. Interestingly enough, what I realized after running 7 half marathons and many smaller training races, is that I despise running. It hurts every single step of the way. I have never, ever felt that elusive runner's high. I kept trying, for a really long time, but it never happened. Eventually, I decided I was done with running and I've never looked back.

When our school's senior class sent out information about their Spring Sprint 5K fundraiser, I thought long and hard. My first thought was a hard NO. Of course, Max and Felicity wanted to do it. The thought occurred to me, "What if I walk it?" That way, I can participate, support the seniors, AND enjoy it. I didn't sign up in advance though, because I had no desire to be the only walker. But, today, when I arrived at registration, I was happy to see that not only were other people walking, they were also willing to walk with me.

It was sunny and cool, a perfect combination for race day. I owned the fact I was walking and enjoyed every minute of it. I was able to speak to the seniors along the route and wish them a good senior trip. I was able to carry on conversations with several of the women walkers. I was able to finish the course still breathing and not in pain. Also, my partner and I were not last, which was my only goal.

Felicity and Max chose the one mile race, which followed. Neither of them trained, and I was a little concerned that Felicity would end in tears and Max would be frustrated. Once I made sure they were at the starting line, I made my way down the course to the first hill, the place I felt they might need some encouragement. However, before I could make it to the hill, I heard the patter of feet and the cheers of the crown for the first runner. I turned and look who I saw! Yep, that's Max, in full stride.

I decided to stay at that point to catch Felicity. Her running buddies, who were all much older than her, were no longer around. She was still going at it...uphill.

Once they passed, I went a little further up so I could see if Max was still in the lead. By the time he came back over the second big hill, he was, but he was walking. He played back to back soccer games Wednesday (who does stuff like that?) and followed that up with Social. He had another game Thursday afternoon, in which he scored two goals in the first ten minutes. He plays center midfield and runs the entire game. By Friday morning, he was out of gas and feeling sick.

He wanted to do the run anyway. I'm so glad he did. He came in third overall and loved it. I didn't see him cross the finish line because I was waiting for Felicity. I knew that final hill was going to be tough, and I wanted to run with her to keep her going. That look of determination and the fact that she was still mostly running, amazed me. And, she wasn't crying. 

She hit the water stand as soon as she finished and then, well, she was done. I let her stay there until everyone finished and they were ready to make the announcements.

Max got a medal for placing third among the male runners. His smile made the whole morning worth it. He couldn't believe he won. He's never been much of a runner, so it was a surprise to him as well as me. He told me he knew he'd be tired, so his whole strategy was to get as far ahead as he could before he had to stop to walk. He only had to do that for a few seconds and then somehow found the energy to kick it end and run to the finish. 

Today I'm grateful for the sport of running. I'm grateful for the friends it has given me, the accomplishments its helped me reach, and the fun other people have doing it. I'm grateful I was able to participate and in the process, cheer on many of my students. Most of all, I'm grateful for Felicity's perseverance and Max's multiple high fives today as he shouted, "Third place!"
 

Learning to Let Go

Yesterday, I was at home. I finished a good workout, got a few things done, took a shower and was sitting at my desk making phone calls, when I got a text from a friend. 

"Did Aiden get you on the phone??" she asked.

"No. Why?" I responded as I wondered what could be going on. It was a strange text. 

Before I had a chance to think anything else, my phone rang. I don't remember her exact words, but I remember she sounded breathless and that she assured me that Aiden was okay. She said he was in an accident and told me where he was. She asked if I needed her to come get me. Other than that, what I remember is that my mind was racing and my heart was beating so fast, I had to ask her again where he was. 

Somehow I got my phone and the keys and told the kids I was going to check on Aiden so please pray. It was pouring down rain, but I didn't grab my raincoat, rain boots, or my purse. I needed to get there. As I pulled out of my driveway, I began to pray. As I did, I had this kind of other worldly experience. I was worried and scared, but I was peaceful. 

Wait...what?

I was peaceful. I can't explain that. I was shaking and praying...and yet, at peace.

I've been working on a few things during Lent this year. One thing, that's helped a lot is detachment. Not detachment so much in the sense of things. I've already become fairly detached from most of my "stuff". I drive a 2002 with dents on every side, a broken tail light, and seats that are falling apart. My couches are covered over with duck tape (okay, not the actual stuff, but the faux leather patches that work about the same) and couch covers. My freezer and faucet leak, and I'm pretty sure my basement will never be finished. I've come to terms with those things. It doesn't mean that I wouldn't rather have a couch with no holes or a car with no dents, it simply means that I don't let the fact that I don't have those things steal my peace...most days.

This Lent, however, I heard a reflection on detachment I had never heard. We need to work on detaching from our will, our way, our plans. To me, that's a lot tougher than detaching from a vehicle. A few weeks ago, my mom called me to tell me that my dad, who is already a miracle, was in the hospital with chest pains. Because he's had a triple bypass, they don't take his chest pains lightly and my poor folks were in the ER for most of the day. 

After the phone call with my mom, who called to ask me to pass the word to my brothers, I stopped where I was and prayed. I remember praying first, "Lord, please don't take my Dad. I'm not ready for that yet." And then, I heard myself add, "If this is Your time Lord, please help me get ready." It was at that moment, which I can't even claim as planned, that an inexplicable peace came over me. Again, I was praying, but not worried. 

There's something that happens when you are willing to say, "Not my will, but Yours." I have come to terms with the fact that God knows better than I do. Yeah, I know, I've learned that lesson many, many times over the years, but now...after ALL that time, I'm beginning to trust it. The simple fact is that God's will is going to be done, whether I want it to or not, and so if I give in to it, I get more peace. That's not a bad place to be. It doesn't take away the sadness or pain, but the peace is there. It's so there it's hard to explain. 

And that's right where I was when I drove up and saw Aiden's car crushed and in someone's front yard.

It was clear he had come from the road, because the curb was cracked, the stop sign was midway in the yard, his tires were under the front porch, and there were skid marks across the lawn. I saw the car and then, I saw my 6'3" son standing upright and talking to the police officer, just as my friend had told me. 

Turns out, he hydroplaned, tried to correct himself once the car was on two wheels and headed into oncoming traffic, hit the curb, flipped the car 360 degrees, and landed right side up. I spoke to Aiden to make sure he was okay and then I spent some time, trying to calm him down. He was understandably upset. This is the second car he's totaled in a year. 

He was questioning God and asking why; a fair question, under the circumstances. I asked him if he's ever read the Book of Job. I'm sure he thought I was out of my mind. "Bad things happen to good people all the time," I tried to comfort him. "How you deal with it, that's what matters. God saved your life today son. That's what you need to focus on."

Every window in the car was gone except the front windshield and the driver's side window. The passenger side of the car was obviously the side that hit the ground (you can see the grass in the door). Thanks be to God, he was wearing his seatbelt, and other than a small burn on his arm from the airbag, he was fine. 

The woman, who's yard he was in, was as sweet as she could be. When I arrived and identified myself, she was crying. Aiden's was the fourth car in several months that has hydroplaned and ended up in her front yard. After she settled down, she asked Aiden to come to her. She grabbed his hand and the hand of her neighbor and said the most beautiful prayer, thanking God for Aiden's life. She had a big support system arrive. Her daughter, who is a nurse, checked Aiden over. Her son-in-law told me, "You know, it's just a yard and a porch. Ain't no big deal, because those are just things. They can be replaced. Son," he said as he looked at Aiden, "your life can't be replaced and it's the only thing that matters here today."

All of this happened in the yard, in the pouring rain. One of my neighbors (the accident was about .3 miles from my house) ended up at the scene before me. He helped me get Aiden settled down, as well as pick up all of his things that were scattered across the lawn. When one of the homeowner's  family members suggested we get pictures before we cleaned too much up, my neighbor took photos so I could speak to the police officer with Aiden. 

My friend who had called me, drove back by and got out of her car to see if I needed anything. Then, she took me into her arms and hugged me. That's when I cried, really cried, for the first time. She knew how scared I was. That hug meant more to me than she will ever know. As we wiped away our tears, she unzipped her raincoat and put it on me. It was such a small, yet colossal gesture. In the midst of a terrifying moment, she knew what I needed before I said a word, and I will be forever grateful for that.

In about an hour's time, the stop sign was replaced, the car cleaned out and towed, and phone numbers exchanged. I drove Aiden from that scene to my mom's house so she could check him out. As a retired ER and hospice nurse, she knew what to look for. I thank God she's always used her ER skills for my kids, and I pray she never has to use her hospice knowledge on them. After triaging him, she gave him some Ibuprofen and the green light to go home, saving us an unneeded trip to the ER. I still can't believe that I'm writing this after seeing his car. 

On our way home, I noticed Aiden wasn't wearing his glasses. "They were broken in the crash," he told me and when I saw the marks on his face, I figured he was probably right. After telling me he didn't have any contacts at home, I realized the next call needed to be to the eye doctor. 

Even though I called during regular office hours, I got the recording that said to call back when they are open or, if it's an emergency, call the on call number. Because Dawson had an eye emergency not long ago, I knew the on call number was the doctor's personal cell. I sent a short text explaining the accident and asking if there was anyway I could buy Aiden one pair of contacts to get him through the week. He responded within minutes apologizing for the early closure (the weather was getting worse by the minute), and that he was out of town. He asked if I could meet his father, who he shares the practice with,  at the office in 30 minutes. I responded with a resounding, "YES!"

While I was getting all of that lined up, I asked Aiden to see if he could find his glasses on the off chance that they could be fixed instead of replaced. He found them as I was walking out of the door and glasses in hand, I took off for the office in a rain storm with lightning striking all around me. I began to pray, since the conditions were dangerous and, well, I was scared. It was a simple prayer, "Lord, please don't let me die while trying to help my son recover." Sometimes I get a bit dramatic with my prayers so God is sure to know how I feel. Again, I was nervous (lightning that's so close the hair on your arms stand up is scary), but not unpeaceful. I was doing what needed to be done, when it needed to be done, and if God wanted to test my trust or take my life, then so be it.

I arrived at the downtown office and had no trouble parking, since no one else was crazy enough to be out in this weather. I saw a light inside and knocked on the window from under the overhang outside. It didn't matter much, since the rain was coming down sideways by now. 

The doctor let me in with a huge smile. He gave no sign that I had interfered with his time off. In fact, he apologized for closing early. His next question was about the safety of Aiden and I cried again as I told him the story. His compassion was tangible. He took the glasses from me and said, "I can fix these. Come with me." 

He let me sit down and told me stories as he worked on the glasses. He found a pair of contacts for him as well. He handed me the things and said, "Okay, you're good to go. Please tell Aiden that God was watching out for him today."

"I will. What do I owe?" I asked as we headed towards the front. 

"You don't owe me anything," was his quick response. "I'm so happy I could help. You just go home and take care of your son."

"Are you sure?" I asked again. "I'd really like to give you something."

"You folks are good people, friends. That's what friends do for each other," he said with such authentic kindness that I wanted to hug him tightly. Instead, I thanked him profusely and walked back to the car. 

Driving home, I was overwhelmed by God's love for me...and for Aiden. Now I was praying again as I drove home on flooded streets. I was shaking, not just with the what could have been, but with the fact that in the midst of such an awful situation, what God let me know is that He has my back. Yes, kids are hard...especially when they total cars and spend time in the ER (not this time, but many others), but they are also blessings and force us to let go of our idea that we can control anything. And when it feels lonely to drive to the scene of an accident your kid has had, God knows you're going to need some back up so He sends it, in abundance. And when you think that most people in this world are only in it for themselves, he sends you to a doctor who drives through a monsoon to fix glasses, find contacts, and love you through his generosity. 

Every time since then, when Aiden leaves the house, I tell him I love him and to PLEASE drive carefully. I'm not sure how long that will last, but the sentiment will be there even when the words aren't. I'm grateful, so very grateful, that God saved Aiden today. I'm grateful for strangers who pray with your kid, friends who give you hugs and raincoats, doctors who truly care for you, and the opportunity to learn once again how to detach.